Causality
by Rydia Highwind
Summary: cau·sal·i·ty : the relation of cause and effect. Things go a little differently in Gluttony's stomach, and the end result changes everything.  Ling/Ed, AU.
1. Part 1 : Effect

**Title:** Causality, Part 1/3  
**Series:** Fullmetal Alchemist (manga)  
**Pairing:** Ling/Ed, eventually.  
**Warning:** Spoilers for Chapter 51 in the manga.  
**Summary:** cau·sal·i·ty : the relation of cause and effect. Things go a little differently in Gluttony's stomach, and the end result changes everything.  
**Credits:** My best friend Celeste very kindly beta'd this for me. Also, huge chunks of the dialogue in here are from Viz's translation of the manga, because it happens in the middle of the manga. Yup.

* * *

Part I – Effect.

_i._

There are simply some things in this world that even a man such as the Fuhrer President of all Amestris, a man who is not really a man, cannot quite figure out in the instant they happen.

This is one of these things, King Bradley decides, as he carefully sheathes his sword and steps down off of the table.

The teacups are in ruins, shattered into a thousand pieces, and there is tea staining the carpet. What a shame. He does hope it can be cleaned. The chair he had been seated in is also destroyed, reduced to a number of sharp splinters discarded carelessly over the floor. The table too has seen better days, but it's still standing. The window now sports a brand new hole in the corner of it, though most of the glass went with the intruder on his way out.

Most interestingly is Colonel Roy Mustang, still seated in his chair, teacup still in his ungloved right hand. His face is rather pale and he seems unnaturally tight lipped as he sits stiffly in his chair, giving Bradley a baffled look.

Bradley has no time to explain, nor would he, because he isn't entirely sure of what just happened himself. Before either of them can say a word, the door bursts open again. Bradley watches in some distress as the doorknob imbeds itself into the wall.

Alphonse Elric is standing behind the door, his massive right hand stretched out in front of him and the clear instigator of the door shove that had put another hole in the wall. His posture is harried, as though something has slipped out of his grip, such as a parent who has lost his child in the park—or more accurately, a younger brother who has just lost his elder brother.

Bradley's hand is still on the hilt of his sword, but Alphonse just looks at them in what appears to be bewilderment.

"Er, have you seen Brother?" he asks, his voice catching just a little higher than normal, and still sounding odd coming out of such a huge suit of armor.

Mustang and Bradley turn in unison and point to the broken window.

Alphonse dashes to the window and sticks his head out the hole that is perfectly sized for the Fullmetal Alchemist to have leapt through. He looks around frantically for a moment before pulling his head back within the room. His shoulders are slumped and he looks for all the world like someone who has given up on something very precious.

"Oh," is all he says.

Since he had lost the Elrics during the fight with Scar and those aggravating Xingese children, Bradley had been unaware of the brothers' whereabouts. It would seem, he thinks, considering the window, that they have been delving in things they should not have.

Oh, well. They are unharmed—mostly. And it won't be hard to track Fullmetal, at any rate. Bradley wonders what Father was planning with this move; certainly, this isn't it. Well, it isn't exactly his position to ask questions. He just hopes he isn't the one who gets to deal with the clean up. That would be...obnoxious.

In the meantime, though, he might as well use this to his advantage.

"Alphonse," he says, his voice calm and chipper, as though he had not just been attacked within his own Central Headquarters.

"Y-yessir!" Alphonse is clearly unnerved, judging from the way his posture snaps upright.

"I seem to have broken my chair." Bradley gestures absently to the pile of wood scraps scattered across the floor. "Would you mind fixing it for me?"

Mustang shoots him a glance, which he ignores. Instead, he walks around to the door. Alphonse hesitates for a moment, looking at the Colonel for direction. Mustang doesn't really respond, and the boy starts gathering the pieces of the chair together.

There is an unconscious guard outside the door. How...aggravating. Bradley frowns intently, fighting down an urge to stab the man for simply being not what he needs him to be. It of course isn't _his _fault that an overenthusiastic Alphonse Elric has just knocked him silly. The Wrath within him doesn't care about who is at fault. But practicality must win out this round. Bradley ignores the man and peers around. Surely _someone _is around.

When he finally sees someone, he is at first confused. He isn't sure he's ever seen this man, but the way he walks suggest familiarity and some urgency. The man doesn't salute his Fuhrer. How annoying. Bradley's gaze narrows slightly...and then he understands.

"Envy," he comments offhandedly, too quiet for the two alchemists behind him to hear.

Envy smirks, that familiar smile a little unnerving on that unfamiliar face. Bradley says nothing more for a moment. Envy may come in handy, though he's not terribly good at following orders. Well, it doesn't matter. Bradley has a plan for rounding up Fullmetal, and that's most likely what Envy is trying to do, judging from his motions.

"Bring the Rockbell girl here," Bradley says lowly, his gaze one of heavy importance. "And keep her room under heavy surveillance. I want to know the minute someone gets anywhere _close _to it."

Envy looks just a touch resentful, but he _is _in disguise as one of Bradley's men. This is what he gets. "Yes sir," he retorts, saluting, before running off.

He had said this all loud enough for Alphonse and Mustang to hear, so he isn't surprised by the baleful aura in the room exuded by his two guests when he turns back around. He raises one eyebrow. "Did you want to say something?"

"Why are you getting Winry involved?" Alphonse's voice is resentful, surly, and scared as hell, all in one. Bradley is somewhat impressed.

"It's very simple, really," Bradley responds, kneeling down and picking something up off the carpet, an item he had not previously noticed. It is a long, thin piece of metal casing, about the length of Bradley's hand. One side of it is smooth and tapered, with a tiny lip at the bottom. The other side is sheered clean off, edges sharp. It looks as though something had sliced through the metal as though it was nothing more than a piece of fruit.

Alphonse lets out a tiny gasp, and Mustang's eyes narrow as they both realize what it is at the same time.

"You want to see your brother again, right?" Bradley asks, his single eye flashing. "I have a feeling he won't be getting very far without his mechanic."

* * *

_ii._

Time never passes as slowly as when you are thrown over someone's shoulder, listening to your broken ribs scrape against each other with each step taken.

Ling is about finished feeling anything but pain, and even that is kind of hazy in his mind. He keeps conscious by counting the droplets of blood marking the trail behind him. His arms dangle uselessly out in front of him. He wonders absently if this is how Ran Fan felt while Ling had carried her, dizzily following the trail of blood behind them and feeling somewhat useless.

Something pricks at the edge of his consciousness. He frowns. "More ahead. Go...go right," he says.

The footsteps falter slightly, and then there's the sound of an explosion. Air rushes past him, and then they are turning right, through the new hole in the wall and into another tunnel.

This tunnel looks the same as the previous eight million tunnels they've wandered through. This place is truly a labyrinth, and despite Ling's ability to sense life around them, at the range they're at, all he can feel is the presence of groups of "guardians" awaiting their lunches. There is nothing to indicate which way the outside is.

"You're alive, still?" the low, gravelly voice asks.

"Wouldn't have honored my promise very well if I'd...died en route," Ling replies, though his voice is strained.

Ling is shifted slightly on the man's shoulder. The pain crashes over him like a wave, and he nearly blacks out. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is that man, and so he forces them open again. _Stupid Ed,_ he thinks. _This is all your fault._

"I have heard about Xingese honor and promises, but I wasn't aware that they could trump death."

Ling is pretty sure making a promise about telling a sociopathic mass murderer about who started the war that destroyed his life isn't really keeping him alive. In fact, he's fairly certain it might end up making his life a little shorter in the long run.

He closes his eyes for a moment and then snaps them open again. No. He is not going to pass out now. At this stage, unconsciousness is no better than death. He may be on a one way trip to hell, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop fighting now. How would that be fair to Fuu, on his way back from Xing after helping that nice young lady? How would that be fair to Ran Fan, bandaged and broken in a bed in an unfamiliar house?

Ling's vision fades slightly. _Ran Fan..._

He wonders if she's okay, if she even survived the trip to Dr. Knox's home. What if Bradley had intercepted them? What if she had gotten some sort of an infection? What if...

No. Ran Fan is strong. _Like I must be._ This situation is not the end of all things. He just has to survive, nothing more, and nothing less. This is his only objective right now. Ran Fan would have died to make it so, and he will not betray her promise by dying.

And then, suddenly, improbably, he feels something. Something that isn't a monster. Something _human._

"Stop a minute," he calls, head swimming. "Stop, I feel...something."

Obediently, the giant Ishbalan slows to a stop. This is somewhat surprising to Ling, but he won't complain. Instead, he concentrates. If he has any chance of survival, he needs to find this person. "Southwest of here," he says. "It's a person. One person. Not a monster."

"A human? Down here?"

"Yeah. There are...I think there are chimeras with him, but he's definitely human," Ling responds. A lightning bug in a night devoid of any light, that is what it feels like, flickering, barely visible, but definitely _there._ Ling has no doubt of his senses. He had been trained too well for that.

The man called Scar moves, and the further they go, the surer Ling is. He gives brief instructions—"further right," "still a ways to go"—and he wonders if he's making a big mistake. Whoever this person is, meeting up with this Ishbalan murderer isn't usually the best way to survive. Perhaps he's a prisoner, or perhaps he's a guard and knows where the exit is.

In the end, the former turns out to be correct, though they never actually are able to find him. Instead, they are found by him. Even while Ling is muttering, "...ought to be right here," a voice wafts up from _beneath _them.

"Who's there! Is someone there?"

They pull to a stop. Of course it's beneath them. How had Ling missed that? He is very tired.

The floor is a metal grate. Scar kneels down on it, and Ling can't see through, his vision obscured by Scar's foot, but he can feel the man's presence. What little of the room under them he can see through the grate seems bare and looks just like the hallway they are in.

"Are you a civilian?" Scar's voice is level, but Ling imagines he is as confused as Ling is.

The man doesn't answer. Instead, he has some questions of his own. "Are you from the outside? How did you get in here?"

"First tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

Scar shifts again, and Ling groans. He feels like he is underwater, like everything is moving slowly and purposefully. It is getting very difficult to breathe.

"Are you injured? I'm a doctor," the man calls. "My name is Dr. Mauro. Please. I can help."

Ling doesn't really believe in or worship any one particular god, but right now, he is thanking all of them. Now, if only Scar will let him down there. There are definitely some chimeras down there, but they're not attacking Mauro, so maybe they'll be spared too. Besides, it isn't like Scar can't take care of them fairly easily.

"I want to know what's going on outside. Please come down. I can treat your wounds," Mauro insists, _pleads_, almost. "The guard won't be coming around for a while. Don't worry."

Scar hesitates for only a moment longer. Then he moves again, stepping back so he can remove the metal grating covering Mauro's prison. And then Ling experiences a sort of strange vertigo as Scar jumps down the hole. When he lands, it's like a shockwave of pain rippling through him. He lets out a choking gasp and is unable to make a sound other than that.

"Lay him down on the cot—careful now, he's badly hurt," Mauro says, and Ling feels himself being shifted into a horizontal position. It's both a relief and worse somehow, and he feels himself drifting in and out of consciousness.

Ling doesn't hear Mauro's diagnosis, which is actually okay with him. He would rather not know how many of his ribs have been reduced to fragments, honestly. He remembers a cool hand on his forehead and a tired voice telling him he is very lucky to have made it this far.

Ling is pretty sure whatever he has isn't luck.

Mauro is holding a jar of some variety. The reddish material in it looks very familiar to him, sloshing around in sort of a half-liquid, half-gel form. Mauro pulls the cork out of the bottle and lets the substance inside slide into his hand, and Ling realizes what it is immediately.

He remembers very clearly the last time he saw one of these, as it was merely a few hours ago. It had also been held over the top of him in much the same manner as Envy's claw pinned him to the ground, sliding in that man's hand, dripping over the edge, just above the open wound on his cheek—

Mauro has different plans, though. He doesn't let it slide out of his hand. Instead, he puts his other hand on Ling's chest. Blue light surrounds them, centered on Ling's chest, and Ling inhales sharply. It would have been a mistake to try five minutes ago, and Ling winces in anticipation of the pain that would accompany it, but none comes. He blinks. There is no pain whatsoever, not anywhere.

Mauro has used his philosopher's stone...to heal Ling?

Ling sits up. It is the best feeling in the world.

Dr. Mauro is his new favorite person ever. He would hug the man if spontaneous hugging was acceptable in this country. Neither Mauro nor Scar seem like they really want a hug right now, though, and Ling is honestly a little more interested in that red almost-liquid in Mauro's hand.

With Ling no longer in any immediate danger, Scar has decided to interrogate Mauro. "Just who are you, and why are they keeping you here?" he demands.

Mauro looks at Scar for the first time, and his eyes widen as he sees the scar over the Ishbalan's forehead. "You—you're the one," he murmurs, his hands shaking as he puts away the stone, "the Ishbalan who kills state alchemists. You're...Scar?"

"So they call me," Scar says flatly.

Ling frowns. This Mauro, he is clearly an alchemist, and one of some renown, if he has a philosopher's stone in his possession. And the sweat gathering on the man's forehead combined with his obvious alchemical prowess tells Ling one thing: he is a state alchemist. Ling wonders to himself how long it will take for Scar to put together this truth as well and finds himself hoping it will be later rather than sooner. Ling does owe the man his life at this point, but he doesn't really feel like tempting fate and taking on Scar either. Besides, Scar rescued him too.

What a conundrum.

"You're being detained? What do they want with a doctor?" Scar asks. Ling wonders if he doesn't recognize the man's name, of if Mauro is using a fake name. The latter seems more likely.

"They're—they're forcing me to cooperate," Mauro manages. "And they're going to use me even more. They control the country from the shadows. Their power is overwhelming, their methods a mystery. I...I hate myself for letting them take me without even putting up a fight!"

"Then fight, Mauro," Ling puts in as he pulls his feet up to side cross-legged on the cot. The sooner he is out of here, the better. "We'll take you out with us, and then you can tell everyone what they're up to." _And get you away from the crazy Ishbalan before he figures out who you are._

"I can't do that!" Mauro puts in, and his eyes look like those of a battered prey before it gives in to the predator. "An—an entire village is being held hostage!"

The last of the mystery falls into place in Ling's mind. It is, he now realizes, more than a bit strange that a state alchemist in possession of a philosopher's stone would be detained so easily. But if the lives of everyone in a village were at stake, well, that explains a lot.

"Last time I tried to run from them, I took refuge in a small eastern village with a new name," Mauro explains, hands shaking badly. "That's how they are able to pressure me like this. They have vowed that if I try to escape or even kill myself, they will destroy the entire village." He slumps to the floor, his face in his hands. "It's not just a threat. I have no doubt that they would. So don't take me outside..."

Scar's voice, when it comes, is harder and even less forgiving than normal. "My people have been all but wiped out," he responds icily. "Do you honestly think that I would feel pity over a story like that?"

No, Ling supposes, the sob story isn't very effective on a man like Scar. He frowns, crossing his arms and waiting for the outcome.

"I know," Mauro says, his hands coming down from his face to rest in his lap. He swallows once, and when he looks up again, it seems to Ling that he has made a decision. "You must truly hate us. That's why I have a favor to ask of you."

Ling is on his feet with his hand on his sword before Mauro can even ask. He knows, instinctively, what the doctor is going to say.

"I want you to kill me."

Scar doesn't react right away, just staring in that obstreperous way of his.

Mauro continues. "My real name is Tim Marcoh. I am the alchemist that created the philosopher's stone that lead to the destruction of your people."

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Ling's mind is reeling at this—Mauro, no, _Marcoh_ had created a philosopher's stone on top of having one in his possession. If he could rescue Marcoh somehow, get him the hell out of here, bring him back to Xing with him...but first he will have to get past Scar.

"My research has taken the lives of countless Ishbalans. I am your nemesis," Marcoh continues while Scar just stands there, staring at him, massive hands clenched into fists. "Were I to refuse to cooperate with the homunculi or take my own life, the village will be destroyed. They need me alive to help with their plans—to make me a 'sacrifice' of some sort. If I'm killed by an outside source, the village will be saved, and my captors' plans will at least be delayed for a little while."

Marcoh's eyes are empty and terrified when he looks up at Scar. "So please kill me, Scar! I will atone for my sins with my life!"

Scar moves. He is incredibly fast for such a colossal man. Ling has his sword out, but he has enough self preservation not to get between a sociopath with that look in his eye and his prey. Scar's right hand is big enough to engulf Marcoh's face, and he shoves the doctor into the ground mercilessly.

Ling moves forward, sword inches from Scar's face. Scar doesn't even see him, and Ling wonders if the key to immortality, his only chance for him to become emperor, the philosopher's stone, will slip out of his grasp for the second time that day.

But miraculously, although Ling is fully aware of what Scar's right hand is capable of, Marcoh is not dead. He is just lying there on the ground, eyes wide as he stares up at Scar.

This might be Ling's only chance. There is nothing that can assuage Scar's anger at this point, but Ling might be able to redirect it. "You're going after the wrong guy, Scar—I know the real reason and start of the Ishbal War," he calls lowly.

Scar's red eyes are on him suddenly, and he ducks under a swipe of the Ishbalan's left hand. "You, stay out of this," he bellows. Ling hops backwards, away from the man. So much for that idea.

Scar's attention is now on Marcoh again, but once again, Scar doesn't kill him. "You're going to tell me everything about the war, Marcoh. You're going to tell me everything—tell me, before my right hand destroys you!"

* * *

_iii._

The train schedule is a mess.

After talking with the attendant for an extra hour and trying to figure out a way she can get back to Rush Valley without taking a detour to West City that will cost her an extra day of traveling, Winry has decided that she'll just go back to the hotel and wait for the Southern Express train to finish its emergency repairs. There had apparently been quite the snowstorm up north, taking out some of the tracks. This meant that, when the southbound train had broken down, there weren't enough trains in Central to properly reroute those headed south.

Suitcase clutched in her right hand, Winry makes her way out of the train station, searching for a payphone. Mr. Garfiel is expecting her back tomorrow morning, and there's no way it's going to happen. She needs to let him know.

She spots a payphone about a half block down and heads that direction. It only takes a few minutes for the Central switchboard to patch her through to Mr. Garfiel's shop, and he answers on the second ring, his voice falsetto and cheerful as he thanks her for calling.

"It's Winry, Mr. Garfiel," she sighs, leaning her shoulder against the side of the booth.

"Winry! How good to hear from you! Has your train left yet? I have a lot of angry people waiting for your expertise, darling."

"Yes, about that," Winry murmurs, and then turns her head to the side. She could have sworn someone was watching her, but she sees no one. "My train has been delayed—something about the engine burning out or something, I'm not sure. They don't know when it'll be running again."

Mr. Garfiel makes distressed noises and Winry assures him that she has done everything in her power to find an alternative route. Again, she feels like she's being watched, but no one is even glancing at her as they walk by the phone both. How strange.

"I promise I'll get back as soon as I can, Mr. Garfiel," she swears for the third time before he lets her finally hang up the phone. "Tell my clients how sorry I am, will you?"

She leaves the booth and glances around. She's already checked out of her hotel room, but she'll head back there anyway. She will have to call Ed, she supposes, since he was paying for her hotel room in the first place. He won't mind a few more nights. The hotel staff knows both of them; she's sure they'll let her in, even if she can't get a hold of Ed right away.

Stupid Ed, who didn't return to his room last night! He's probably out getting himself all beat up and ruining his automail again. What else would he be doing? She scowls, swinging her suitcase to the side and trying to remember which direction the hotel is in. Before she can start walking, though, she feels once again like someone is watching her.

This is beginning to make her nervous. She's about to slip into the crowd and just start walking when she hears her name.

"Winry."

It's a voice she knows, but it sounds..._off _for some reason. She almost doesn't recognize it at first, but when she does, she blinks in surprise as she turns. "Ed?"

Ed doesn't answer, but she sees him a moment later, standing in the shadows of a large brick building. He is gesturing to her from the alley there, and she follows his gestures into the alley. He's gotten rid of the red coat he always wears and is just wearing a button down black shirt and black pants, which is why he had been hard to see. "What are you doing? Where were you last night?" she demands, her free hand on her hip. "And here I thought you and Al would at _least _see me off to the train."

But Ed doesn't respond, not with words, anyway. He presses one finger to his lips and then glances out of the alley again. Winry frowns. Is he being followed? Is _she _being followed? She looks with him, but she sees nothing out of the ordinary, just the typical flow of people.

A moment later, he seems satisfied and delves further into the alley. Winry follows him, curious and a little bit worried. Ed seems like he's always getting himself into messes.

Once they are a good bit away from the entrance to the alley, he finally turns to her. There's something strange about his eyes, she thinks. They seem darker than normal, but it's hard to see in the alley. "What's going on?" she asks softly, worried.

"I need your help."

There it is—some odd quality about Ed's voice, like it isn't Ed at all, just someone else using his mouth. There's a strangeness to his voice that Winry doesn't understand, one that she's never heard from Ed's mouth ever before. She gives him a strange look, unsure of how to reply.

And then he starts unbuttoning his shirt using only his left hand. Winry knows exactly what he's going to show her before he can get the shirt off, and she's scowling at him.

"Did you break your automail again?" she demands, setting down her suitcase and folding her arms over her chest. "I don't think you realize how much hard work I put into making this for you, Ed! Can we at least wait until we get back to the hotel room?"

"You can't go back there," Ed says, his hand pausing at the buttons. Winry notices for the first time that there's something on his hand. It's too dark to see what it is. "The military is swarming the place, looking for you."

Winry blinks. That doesn't make any sense. Why in the world would the military be after _her_? "What? They're looking for me? Why?"

"Who knows? Maybe they're hoping you know where I am." Ed smiles, and Winry shivers suddenly, feeling as though someone had just opened some proverbial door and let in an icy gust of wind. Somewhere in the back of her mind, somehow, Winry feels as though she isn't actually talking to Ed at all, and the thought chills her.

The mark on his hand, the color of his eyes, that feral grin...

Winry takes a step backwards, away from him. "...who are you?" she finally manages. She isn't sure of many things right now; why she's here, what this person wants from her, any of that. But she is sure of one thing—this isn't Ed.

"Ah, I thought you'd never ask," the man who isn't Ed says, smiling that strange smile again. He holds up his hand, his left hand, and Winry sees that the mark on it is circular in design, a dragon of sorts curling around to chase after its own tail. There is a six-point star in the center and two wings on top, closer to his wrist. From the angle she's looking at it, the way he is holding his hand up, it appears upside down. It looks familiar; she's seen it somewhere, but she can't remember where.

And then he bows to her slightly, somewhat awkwardly since his right arm doesn't appear to be mobile at all. "My name is Greed."


	2. Part 2 : Cause

**Title:** Causality, Part 2/3  
**Series:** Fullmetal Alchemist (manga)  
**Pairing:** Ling/Ed  
**Warning:** Spoilers for Chapter 51 in the manga.  
**Summary:** cau·sal·i·ty : the relation of cause and effect. Things go a little differently in Gluttony's stomach, and the end result changes everything.  
**Credits:** My best friend Celeste very kindly beta'd this for me. Also, huge chunks of the dialogue in here are from Viz's translation of the manga, because it happens in the middle of the manga. Yup.

* * *

Part II – Cause.

Ed has come to a conclusion.

It's a simple thing, really, and perfectly reasonable. There is no reason why he shouldn't feel this way, even if he doesn't really want to. Ling is a good guy, he supposes. The prince is good to have at your back in a fight, even if he is a dick most of the time when you talk to him, and Ed is beginning to respect that he's a bit deeper than the alchemist had originally given him credit for. Ed might even go so far as to say that he _likes _Ling, though that might be pushing it a little.

Besides, there are plenty of other reasons supporting his conclusion. Thinking this way is the only logical way to think. He nods to himself and takes another staggering step. The blood around his ankles sloshes ominously, and his knees are shaking, just a little.

"Fuck, what the hell did you eat for breakfast?" he spits out. "An entire cow?"

Ling, immobile and obscenely heavy and completely limp over Ed's shoulder, doesn't respond.

Ed wonders if his conclusion is wrong. But no, he realizes that no matter what Ling does (or doesn't do, such as walk, like a normal human being), he doesn't really want Ling to die.

They aren't making it very far like this. Ed's already stumbled once, sending them both into the calf deep blood sea. _How am I supposed to resort to cannibalism if I'm alone?_ he wonders savagely, and he keeps walking.

Up ahead, just at the edge of the torch's influence, he can see a stone slab. It seems flat from what he can see of it. As he gets closer, he realizes it's some sort of huge pillar that has been cut off a few feet from its base, making a round slab of stone jutting out of the blood. It's slightly crooked, one end a few inches higher than the other, but it will make an excellent resting place.

If he can convince his legs to actually go that far. The blood pulls at his calves more and more with every single step.

Grunting, he wishes all sorts of horrible skin conditions to befall Ling. The kind that don't make you any less edible, of course. Just skin conditions in general. Ones that are uncomfortable and make you scratch yourself in inappropriate places at inappropriate times. Ones that aren't contagious simply by touch, as well, preferably.

This makes Ed feel better about life long enough to drag Ling to the slab of stone and push him up on top of it. He then crawls on it himself, a few feet away, and collapses down onto his back. He ignores the gun digging into his back. The torch rolls away from his outstretched hand, remaining lit. He can't see a ceiling, but he hadn't expected to be able to either.

Slogging through the endless sea of blood has taken the energy right out of him. His stomach feels like a great big hollow pit in the center of his being. They're no closer in finding an exit than when they started. Perhaps Ling is right. Perhaps this is nothing but a death march.

"I'm so hungry...," Ling murmurs. "If only we had something to eat."

"Shut the hell up," Ed groans, throwing an arm over his face. _Think, Fullmetal, think!_

Silence for a moment. Then, "That's no way to speak to a prince of an entire country."

"Yeah, well, in here, you're nothing but the prince of an entire fucking sea of blood."

What does he need? He makes a mental checklist. He needs to find something to eat. He needs to figure out how to get them the hell out of there, preferably without eating Ling. He needs to—

"I don't want to be the prince of a sea of blood."

—get Ling to shut the hell up.

"Fucking hell—seriously, shut up, Ling. I'm trying to think."

Okay, great. Fine. One of the books he read when he was a kid had said something about dealing with stressful situations. It had said that there is a solution to all problems; it was only a matter of remembering it. If you don't feel like you have to figure something out, your mind will be less stressed by the situation, and a solution will be easier to find. So he just has to _remember _how to find something to eat when there is nothing to eat.

"Are you going to think our way out of here?"

"I was aiming for thinking of a way out of here that didn't involve resorting to cannibalism." Ed turns his head and gives Ling a long and considering look.

Ling looks back at him, his expression that of someone trying to gauge how serious Ed is being. He deliberates for a moment. "Would you really eat me, Ed?"

"Yes. You look like a giant steak right now." Ed nods decisively.

"I think if you intended to eat me, you would have cut me apart on that log and dragged me over here bit by bit. It would have probably been easier," Ling comments.

"I don't _intend _to eat you, dumbass. I'm just not discounting the possibility."

It is clear that Ling doesn't _want _to escape here, because if he did, he would shut the hell up and let Ed think. Whatever. Ed pushes himself into a sitting position slowly, wincing at the sound of creaking automail. This environment isn't terribly automail friendly. His boots are sopping, inside and out. He pulls his left one off and turns it upside down. Blood pours out freely.

He considers his boot. He considers Ling. He considers the conversation they had just been having. And he suddenly remembers the answer.

"You know, when I was a kid, I saw this movie...kind of a survivalist type setting. The main characters ran out of food, so they cooked one guy's leather shoe and ate that," Ed says, staring at his boot. It doesn't look very appetizing, but neither does Ling, honestly.

"Wait a minute...a shoe?" Ling is giving him a look that probably means, _I would rather be eaten by you than to eat something that has touched your foot._

Stupid prissy prince. Eating the boot seems like a great idea now.

Besides, this boot has only touched his _automail _foot.

"Let's see. We'll need a pot to cook it in—no problem, I can use one of these things lying around here for that," Ed determines, the very idea of eating enough to bring him back to life. "There's plenty of wood around that I can use to make a fire. The water I can transmute from the blood too, along with any utensils we'll need. Perfect, perfect."

"Hey." Ling doesn't sound too pleased. Ed looks up from where he is ankle-deep in the blood, crossing over to grab something to use to make a pot. "Hey, are you serious about this? Really? A shoe?"

"You bet. If you don't want any, I'll just eat it myself," Ed retorts, going back to his hunt.

"If I become emperor," Ling moans, lifting one hand dramatically and pointing into the air, "I'll have you put into the Xingese history books as the man who fed a shoe to the emperor." His arm drops back down to the rock with a thud.

"Really?" Ed asks proudly. "Can it say, 'Edward Elric was an important part of Xing's history'?"

"Ed, if you get us out of here, you can write anything you want about yourself in my history book," Ling promises.

Ed decides to take this promise very seriously.

Ten minutes later, he has made a fire and is boiling his left boot over it. He is poking at the leather repeatedly with a transmuted fork, wondering how to tell if it's done. He figures they need to be at least able to chew it, and it isn't really softening very quickly. This might take a while.

Ling has crawled piteously over and is now lying next to the fire. "Is it done yet?" he whines piteously.

"I thought you didn't want any."

"It smells wonderful. You are an amazing cook, Ed. You have made leather appetizing." Ling leans his head against Ed's leg, clinging to his pants.

Ed pushes Ling's head off of his leg, and it hits the ground with a thud. "Don't touch me, asshole."

And so Ling lies there in much the same position as he was when Ed had first met him. Ed moves over so that Ling would have to continue to crawl around the fire to get to him. He pokes at the leather again. He can actually get his fork into it now, but it will be a little longer before it will be able to be chewed, he thinks as he stirs it absently.

"Ed," Ling's voice comes again. He rolls over onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. "You really think we'll get out of here?"

"'Course we will. We got in, right? Whatever has an entrance has to have an exit," Ed retorts.

Ling goes quiet for a long moment. When he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet. "There are legends in my country about a forest where the _feng shu _grows so thick that if you take five paces within, you'll never be able to get back out."

"I could get out of any damn forest with just the clap of my hands." Ed presses his palms together in a demonstration.

"Not this one. It is said that it is protected by the gods, which is why no man can enter and leave again. Many men and women have been destroyed by the forest. One of the gods, Kwan Yin, supposedly sealed off the entrance to the forest, preventing anyone from ever entering again."

"Why would anyone ever go in it in the first place?" Ed demands, poking the boot again.

"Well, it is said that within the forest is a great fountain, and if a man was to make a pilgrimage to the fountain in the center, he could retrieve something he had lost, be it a lost wallet or a lost lover."

Ed snorts. "How would anyone know it was there if no one could come out of the forest?"

"Because the forest was grown to protect the fountain," Ling explains. "You can't just leave something like that where anyone can get to it."

"Why have the damn fountain in the first place, if you can't get to it?"

"The challenge of the impossible, I suppose, and the allure of the prize." Ling shrugs a little. "You've never wanted to do anything to prove it can be done?"

Ed thinks about what he's trying to do. He thinks about his brother, and he thinks about the idea that no one has ever been put back into their body after being taken out of it. He wonders if he had heard that story years ago, if he would have looked for this mythical forest. Finding a damn fountain in a bunch of trees or whatever sounds like a vacation compared to what he's been through thus far. Al would be cut out for the job in his current body, never having to eat or to rest.

"Maybe someone will go in looking for us," Ling suggests, staring up at nothing. "I'd say we're pretty lost."

"Maybe we just need to find the fountain," Ed supplies.

Ling looks at him for a long moment, and then he laughs. "I should have known you'd take the story that way," he comments. Ed gives him an odd look, but he says nothing more.

Which really ends up being fine, because the next time Ed tests the leather boiling in the pot, he finds that he can actually cut it. And that means it's time to eat. He has made a few bowls already, so he transmutes his fork thing into a knife, cutting the boot in halves. Then he transmutes it into a ladle and scoops them each a bowl with it.

Ling is halfway sitting up by now, and he accepts his bowl, managing to look both eager and hesitant at the same time. Ed hands him a fork, and he pokes at the now unrecognizable leather. "You don't have athlete's foot, do you?"

Ed lifts up his very much completely made out of metal foot which is completely devoid of any possibility of athlete's foot. "Do I _look_ like I do?" he demands.

"I do not know what athlete's foot looks like," Ling admits.

"Athlete's foot is a type of bacteria that could not _possibly _grow on inorganic material, such as _automail_, you asshole."

The boot ends up tasting about as good as it looks, which is not at all. But its consumption leads to Ling doing something other than rolling around on the stone platform and whining annoyingly. He is visibly strengthened by it, sitting up all on his own and everything. Ed is in the process of picking flakes of blood off of his automail foot when Ling breaks the silence suddenly.

"I'm sorry." His voice is quiet and contemplative and not much like Ling, somehow.

Ed looks at him. "For what?"

"The only reason you're trapped here is because you tried to protect me."

Reflecting back, Ed realizes that Ling is right. He had been trying to knock Ling out of the way of Gluttony's attack. He had done that, however, not having any idea of what would happen if he got swallowed. Now, here he is, alive, healthy, strong, and determined to get out. If he hadn't come with Ling, Ling would have given up long ago. Ling would not have gotten out alone.

Ed finds he doesn't really mind being here, in that case.

Because maybe, just _maybe_, he doesn't really mind Ling as much as he pretends to. He doesn't want Ling to die.

"No big deal," he says, waving a hand vaguely. "This is nothing compared to my apprenticeship when I was a kid."

Ling lets out a snort. "What sort of a childhood did you have?" he mutters to himself. Ed ignores him.

"Look, what I mean is...we're not hurt. We're healthy and strong, and we can keep looking for an exit. It could be a whole lot worse. I'm not giving up yet, and the minute you do, you're just admitting that you want to be my next meal."

Ling scoots over so that he is sitting shoulder to shoulder next to Ed. "You are a very strange person, Ed," he observes. "This is not the type of situation in which I would expect to see someone's optimism emerge."

"It isn't optimism. I'm just stubborn." Ed shrugs, glancing at Ling. "I won't stop trying to get out until I either do or I die trying. There's no other option. That's all."

"Hm. Interesting way of looking at it." Ling is looking right at him, and it's a little disconcerting; they are very close together. "I guess my stomach overrules my stubbornness. I'd probably still be on that log, moping, if you hadn't dragged me here."

"Damn right, you would be. You give up too easily."

"You're right."

Ed blinks. Ling isn't supposed to agree that easily. "I am?"

And then Ling has closed the gap between them, and his lips are pressed against Ed's. There isn't pressure, there's no pushing, and it barely even lasts a second before he pulls back. His dark eyes are open, watching Ed carefully, waiting for a reaction.

Ed blinks again. "What the hell?"

Satisfied, Ling leans back, considering Ed's face carefully. "It's a do or die sort of thing; that's what you said, right?" he says. "You're more worried about the doing part. I'm still a little concerned about the dying, myself. There are things I wanted to do before I died. One of them was to kiss you, so now I can mark that off my list."

Mystified by this, Ed continues to stare at Ling. This is pretty much completely not what he had been expecting. He isn't really sure what he had been expecting, but having Ling admit he's been wanting to kiss Ed right after he actually does it is probably not it.

Had Ling really just kissed him? Had he really not punched Ling in the face immediately afterwards? Ling has made advances on Ed in the past, but Ed has always chalked these up to Ling being a dick, because most everything Ling does seems to be working toward the greater goal of proving himself once and for all a giant dick.

But apparently, in this one thing, that isn't the reason.

This isn't a situation where Ling would be doing this to piss him off, Ed understands that. It's because he thinks he's going to die here, and if he doesn't get a chance now, he never will. And for the first time since landing in this quagmire of despair, Ed begins to wonder, _What if I never get out of here?_

The thought is chilling. If he dies here, Al will be alone. If he dies here, Winry will cry. He'll never see the Colonel make it to the top. He'll never put Al back into his body, he'll never get his own body back, he won't be able to keep all these promises he's made. The world is painted suddenly in very bleak colors, and Ed thinks he can understand exactly what drove Ling to give up on living when he had collapsed down on that log.

Ed closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. What he had said earlier still applies, after all. It's do or die. It isn't sit here and feel sorry for oneself until you die. He isn't playing this game, and he isn't going to let Ling play it either.

"You know, I really thought you'd hit me when I did that," Ling says out of nowhere. He's leaning back, propped up on his arms, eyes scanning the area around them as though it isn't all blackness.

"I did too." Maybe it's the situation, the realization that maybe right now, everything Ling does _isn't _for the greater purpose of winning the I'm The Biggest Asshole Ever award. It had been a real, genuine kiss, no ulterior motives involved. Well, maybe there were ulterior motives involved, but they didn't revolve around winning any awards.

"But you didn't." Ling has turned back to him, his gaze questioning.

"No," Ed said quietly. "If you hadn't done it because you think you're going to die, I would have." He turns to look at Ling, and he feels something flutter in his chest. Ling is completely serious about this, and Ed had feared he wasn't. Now that he's _sure_...

"Am I still giving up too easily?" Ling looks very interested, leaning forward again so he is once more closer to Ed's face.

Ed nods, because he isn't sure of his voice right now. Ling isn't doing it to be a dick, and he isn't doing it just as a chance thing.

And then Ling is leaning forward again, one of his hands reaching up to touch Ed's jaw and the other remaining on the stone slab for balance. When their lips meet this time, Ed is ready for it. Ling slides his hand back around Ed's neck, cradling his head carefully. Ed isn't well versed at this, having kissed exactly one person in his entire life before this point (which doesn't really count because he was sort of a little bit drunk, thirteen, and being goaded on by the guys who had gotten him drunk in the first place; he doesn't really count it because he can't even remember the girl's name anymore). He lets his body move for him, the same way he does when he's fighting, acting on instinct instead of reason. His arms come up, wrapping around Ling's neck and upper body.

Ling's hand skates down his side, chastely over top of Ed's clothing. The feeling that shoots down Ed's spine at the sensation explodes in his groin and it's the best damn feeling in the world. Ed grunts his approval, shifting to the side, and Ling's hand slides over his ass.

And then, inexplicably, Ling stops.

Ed, arms still locked around Ling, glares up at him. "What the hell are you doing? I was quite happy before, damn it."

Ling's eyes glance over to the side, beyond the edge of the platform they are on and into the black abyss, moving his hands away from his companion. "Ed...we are not alone," he says softly.

They are indeed not alone. Ed hears it almost immediately after Ling announces it—a sloshing noise from beyond their dome of light made by the fire.

Someone is here. _Someone is here!_

Sure, it is probably someone else who is trapped here with them, but for the moment, Ed doesn't care. It's a rather abrupt change from what they had been doing, but what does it matter? This mysterious being could be their salvation, or could at least aid them in it.

Ling is on edge, his breath hitched a little, his stance one he uses for fighting. Ed isn't quite as worried about it, but Ling's reaction is making him jumpy too. He wants to call out to the mysterious person, but something about Ling's nervousness is keeping him from doing so. Can he sense something different about this person, or...?

"My, my," comes a familiar voice from the blackness beyond their tiny world created by the fire light. "I saw light over this way, and I was wondering who it was."

Out of the shadow strides the familiar figure of Envy, and he does not look particularly happy to see them. His face is set into a scowl, and his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Something about the way his footsteps sound in the sea of blood seems strange to Ed, but he can't place what it is about it.

"I should have known it'd be you."

Ling's face has contorted into a growl, but Ed sees this as an opportunity. "Envy! Tell us how to get out of here!" he shouts.

He can feel Ling's shocked gaze fall on him. "What are you doing! You'd sell out to the enemy, just like that?" Ling demands.

What the hell? Has Ling got a death wish or something? Does he _want _to stay in here and starve to death! "Of _course _I would! I'd sell my soul to the devil if it meant surviving!" Ed growls.

"The drive to survive is admirable, but at any cost?" Ling retorts, staring at him.

"Shut up! Humanity is all about survival! If you don't have what it takes, then you don't deserve to survive!"

Ling opens his mouth to say something else, but it is Envy who has the last word.

"There is no exit."

* * *

Despite the hopelessness of what Envy describes to them—Gluttony being a failed experiment, a non-Portal of Truth crafted by the man who had created the homunculi in the first place, and this being the alternate dimension of nothing that they are now trapped within—despite all of this, Ed just gets pissed off about it. He paces back and forth in front of Envy's perch, questioning Envy on what the homunculi and their 'Father' are up to. The best this does is uncover the fact that King Bradley himself is a homunculus, something Ling had already suggested before this entire ordeal.

And this opens a whole new can of worms. The fifth lab, philosopher's stones made from souls of human beings, homunculi in charge of the country...well, that can only mean one thing.

"If the president is involved, then you had something to do with the war in Ishbal too, didn't you?" Ed asks, his voice low and angry.

What Ed doesn't expect is for Envy's entire demeanor to change, just like that. A grin lights up that seems to cover his entire face, and his eyes widen in some insane glee. "Ah, Ishbal! Never has there been such a brilliant civil war!" he cackles, and Ed's stomach turns. All that death and bloodshed is making Envy _laugh._ He feels his hands clench at his sides. "You do, of course, remember the events that triggered the war, don't you?"

"A military officer accidentally shot an Ishbalan child," Ed says slowly.

"Yes! Ha!" Envy stands up on his pillar, grinning widely. "I, Envy, am the one who shot and killed that child!"

Ed stands very still, the words washing over him like a tidal wave. All the horror...the suffering...everyone who died there, everyone who had to live through and _endure _such a terrible war, a war that has created sociopaths like Scar, that took the lives of two innocent doctors and left a little girl without parents, that destroyed the countryside and his village...all caused by this being standing in front of him.

Envy is not finished. "With a single bullet, I watched as the carnage of war rippled outward until it consumed the entire country. It was beautiful! Humans are such easy creatures to manipulate. It was all very amusing. Oh, and by the way, when I did the shooting, I disguised myself as an officer who had been against the military's involvement in Ishbal. The fool faced a tribunal for what I did. I was able to eliminate the opposition and start a civil war in one move. How's _that _for killing two birds with one stone, hmm?"

The homunculus looks so disgustingly proud of himself that it's taken everything in Ed not to pound him where he stand, to just let him keep talking. But now, now it's too much. Without a second thought, Ed has hopped down into the sea of blood, and he is walking slowly, deliberately toward where Envy is perched.

"Ed—" Ling calls from behind him, trying to stop him.

"SHUT UP!" Ed howls, jerking around to glare at Ling. "He's the one responsible! Him!" Ed points a shaking finger at Envy, still happily seated on his column. "He shot a child and started a war—the war that destroyed my hometown! The war that turned the Ishbalans into homeless refugees! That—that birthed a murderer like Scar, that killed Winry's parents! Him! It was all _him_!"

Ed whirls back around toward Envy, and he begins running, gathering momentum. "You're to blame!" he shouts just before his automail fist impacts with Envy's jaw.

Inexplicably, Envy doesn't move.

Ed had put everything he had into that punch. He had put all of his rage in it, all of the anger he felt, not to mention a running start. He had hit with his metal fist, much harder, stronger, and less forgiving than his flesh one. And it was as though he had punched a wall of marble. He hadn't even made a dent. Envy hadn't even _reacted._

And then Envy looks at him, eyes dark with annoyance, inevitability, and anger. "You want to fight, little brats?" he asks lowly, turning toward Ed slightly.

"Ed, back up!" Ling calls from behind him, and Ed takes a few steps back toward Ling, unsure of what to expect.

Red electricity leaps off of Envy's being, the same power that comes to life when the homunculi regenerate, and he steps down off of his pillar. Ed continues backing up until he's next to Ling. "We're all going to die here anyway," he growls.

His form begins to shift. It isn't his normal shift, though; it looks as though something inside of him is melting away. His jaw drops down weirdly and his hands clench and pop, beginning to grow ominous. "As a parting gift," he continues, and even his voice is changing, "I'll show you something interesting."

"Ed," Ling says quietly, though neither of their eyes leaves the shifting monster in front of them, "when we fought Envy in the forest, did you happen to look down at the ground near his feet?"

What? Why would Ed have looked at his feet? "No."

"It was really sunken in," Ling explains. "And when we fought him in the city, the only parts of the iron fence that were broken are the ones that he landed on."

Ed catches on, casting a glance at Ling. "So that means..."

"Yeah. It means that despite his size, he weighs a considerable amount. Be careful. His real body must be..."

They watch for a moment as the homunculus grows in front of him. "...huge," Ling finishes lamely, and they continue looking up.

In front of them is the sickest, most twisted contortion of human limbs Ed has ever seen. Envy seems to be nothing more than a conglomeration of body parts. His head is wide and adorned with a snout much like a dog's, though the teeth within are straight and rectangular like a human's. He has no fur, just dark green skin. Strands of scraggly black hair cover his head. His right eye has no white in it, only black, and the left is made up of dozens of tiny pupils. The main part of his body is made up of green scales and spikes, stretching down to taper off into a long tail. He has eight legs that Ed can count from where he is, four of which appear to be giant human legs jutting out improbably from the base of his tail.

Envy is now probably the size of the Rockbells' house in height, and much longer than that. And out of his body, everywhere Ed looks, are bodies. Limbs, torsos, heads, nothing whole—but faces, faces everywhere. Faces screaming in agony, faces laughing hysterically, faces sobbing. Faces, reminding Ed exactly what a homunculus is made of.

_Souls._

"...wow," is all Ed can think of to say.

Envy doesn't hesitate. He swipes a gigantic clawed hand at Ling, who leaps backwards and lands on the side of a nearby pillar. The blood sea erupts in turmoil at the sudden inflection of wind and movement, and the pillar Ling is perched on begins to slowly sink toward the blood.

"What the hell _is _that!" Ling demands, staring up at Envy. "How is that an artificial _human_?"

When Envy speaks, each word seems to come out of a different mouth, with a thousand different voices. "This...this is...my...true...form. My true form."

For how massive he is, Envy can move like lightning. He proves this as his giant fist leaps out of the blood just as Ling's pillar finally slides into the blood sea. The hand catches Ling before he has a chance to respond and slams him into the ground so hard that the blood sea literally parts for him for a second before rushing back down to envelope him.

"Ling!" Ed shouts, dashing forward to try and help, but as he does so, Envy's giant tail lashes out of nowhere, catching him across the gut and sending him flying backwards.

"Don't...don't look...at...me!"

Ed slams into the ground hard enough to see stars. He pulls himself up quickly, knowing he has no time to delay. Ling is already on his feet, though he's leaning against another piece of rock jutting out of the water, and one of his hands is holding his side. Ed stumbles over to him, keeping his eyes on Envy. The homunculus' various heads are still muttering.

"Can you make us weapons?" Ling asks, panting a bit.

"Leave it to me," Ed sighs, putting his hands together. They're in a sea of blood, after all; there's certainly no shortage of iron. He pulls a sword from the sea, mimicking the style of the sword Ling lost on their journey into this mess in the first place and adorning the hilt with a tiny skull put there for the sole reason that he knows it will annoy Ling. He hands off the sword to Ling (who makes a face when he sees the skull) and then transmutes his automail into a blade. "Can you fight?" he asks lowly, still not taking his eyes off of the monster before them.

"We'll see," Ling murmurs, running a hand down the blade. "I broke two or three ribs earlier."

"I'm pretty beat up myself," Ed responds, trying to take stock of his injuries.

There really isn't time for this. There's not a damn chance in hell they're going to pull through this. Ed looks at Ling, and Ling looks at Ed. And they both take off running in the opposite direction of the monster at the same time.

"Run into the shadows," Ling shouts as he runs, somewhere to Ed's right. "That way we can get a better position!"

It's easy enough to _say_, but Ed's momentum has taken him directly next to the platform where their cooking fire is still burning cheerfully. He isn't prepared when Envy's tail slams into him again, this time into the back of his head. He goes down hard.

He must have blacked out for a second, but the next thing he remembers is seeing Ling get slammed into another pillar and then roll down into the blood. He jerks around, facing Envy again, and this time, he runs _toward _the homunculus. Escape isn't an option, and this freak is messing up Ling something awful. Not only that, but he's _still _the bastard that caused the Ishbal War.

Ed leaps forward, metal blade flashing in the low light of the fire, and he moves to stab one of the masses of bodies emerging from Envy's side, when something unexpected happens.

The face looks at him and whispers, "Kill me."

Ed freezes. A horrible understanding comes to him; these aren't just random body parts attached to Envy's body awkwardly, they are physical embodiments of the souls inside of Envy's philosopher's stone. They aren't part of Envy. They're _people._

Tears are streaming down the face, and it seems to pull itself from the mass of bodies, arms and a torso appearing too. "Please," it pleads, looking straight at Ed. "Kill me."

And then, out of the thing's mouth, another head appears, pushing up through its jaw and laughing maniacally. The arms and torso flail around a little but give up and sink back into the monster after a moment. Ed staggers backwards a step in horror, but he still can't find it in him to attack. All of the faces are speaking to him, hands grabbing at his shirt.

"Kill me."

"Mommy!"

"Hahaha!"

"Don't kill me..."

"Come closer."

"I want to die!"

The head directly in front of Ed suddenly splits apart without warning, and Ed looks up, feeling disconcerted. Ling is on top of Envy somehow, his sword pointed downward and slicing through the forehead of this face.

One of Envy's legs swipes down impossibly fast, but Ling is faster. He leaps forward, pushing both himself and Ed out of the way, just under the giant claw. Their momentum is great enough that they both slide backwards a few inches through the mire.

"Quit spacing out, you idiot!" Ling snaps, sword out in front of him, between the homunculus and them. Ed is too much in shock to answer right away. "Why do you hesitate?"

"People," Ed murmurs, and looks up at Ling. "There are people inside. They're crying out for help!"

"You're wrong! It's a monster!" Ling shouts, and more heads are leaking out of the slice Ling had made. Ed looks away. "Don't let it fool you! Ed! That thing is a monster!"

But all Ed can see when he looks up are faces. There are hundreds of them, faces, all looking at him. Faces of innocent people, killed to make this demon. People looking at him, people talking to him, people crying for his help.

"Give me back my child."

"Kill me."

"Mother..."

"Don't look..."

"Kill me."

"Daddy?"

"...at me."

"How do you like my power?"

"No."

"Come closer, you bastard."

"Fight."

"Momma..."

"Please."

"Stop it!" Ed shouts, running for it. "Stop! SHUT UP!"

"...my girl."

"STOP—"

"Let's play."

It's that voice—the voice of a little girl, innocent and tiny, asking him for something she'll never again receive—it's that voice that ends it. Ed can't fight this. He can't. It's a dirty trick, he thinks dimly as the voices continue to swirl around him, covering yourself with the faces of the innocent. They're like hostages. These people, they're not dead. These people are just souls, yes, no bodies but this one they're cursed to remain in. But if they're not alive, then neither is Al.

In his mind's eye, he sees a little girl transmuted into a dog by her obsessive father. He sees the way her hair falls over her eyes, the way she cocks her head at him, confused. "Let's play," she had said to him, not understanding why she would never be able to play again.

"Playtime is over," Envy hisses just before his claw slams into Ed, raising him up out of the sea of blood and throwing him backwards toward another stone platform. His back hits rock so hard that he bounces up off of the platform and skids back a few feet. His left arm had broken when Envy had hit him, and he can feel the broken bones grinding against one another with every move he makes. His right hand, which had been raised defensively, falls to the ground.

He lies there, dazed, for a long moment, unable to fully comprehend what has just happened. His head rolls to the side of its own accord, and he finds himself staring at something. A slab of stone, propped upright against some other stone pillars, occupies his line of vision. It's a mural, or part of one. The designs on it look familiar to him somehow, but he's too dazed to place it.

He doesn't react as a thousand tiny little hands reach down, grasping at his shirt, his hair, his arms and legs. Hands and faces and hands... Giant droplets of something hot and thick glob around him, and he looks up to see Envy's mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He's being eaten. Envy's tongue, like the rest of him, is covered in faces and hands, and it's those hands pulling him up.

"Let's die together."

"You'll never understand my pain."

The voices are different here, but really, they're no different from the ones before. He closes his eyes. The hands pull him up, and he lets his arms hang. It's too much effort to move. It's too much effort to fight. _This is it_, he thinks. _This is all I have._

Ling is calling his name, but it's almost hard to tell, with a thousand tiny voices telling him what a nice body he has, saying it isn't fair. He can hear the constant thrumming sound of...of what? A heartbeat? Of course; Envy is a living being too. He must have a heart...or...

Ed opens his eyes. There's a red stone pulsating to his left. Of course. Envy's core. It's Envy's philosopher's stone, the thing that houses all the souls that keep speaking to him. There it is, what he's been searching for all this time, a mere inches away from his hand. His left hand, which he cannot move since his arm is broken. His fingers twitch toward it.

How ironic. He can't even bring himself to care.

The philosopher's stone...that other stone...where had he seen it before?

_I know the answer. I just have to remember it._

The designs on that rock...it's part of a mural. Part of something bigger. He has seen another mural like this, not that long ago. In...in...

The answer comes back to him so suddenly that it feels like a jolt of electricity going down his spine. Of course, how could he be so _stupid?_ He should have known the second Envy had told him that Gluttony was a fake Portal.

The thought gives him a sudden burst of energy and clarity. He struggles back toward Envy's teeth. Oh, what the hell, he's only got one shot at this. He kicks his metal foot at one of the teeth and is surprised at how easily it pops out, leaving his foot sticking out of the hole he's created.

"Let me out! Damn it, Envy, it stinks in here!" Ed shouts, gasping and pressing upwards at the roof of Envy's mouth. "Open up, or I'll bust out all your teeth!" The voices and the hands are still on him, but he's able to push past that for now. "Shut up. Shut these things up! I think I've figured out a way we can get out of here, and I'll need your help, Envy!"

There is silence for a moment. Even the voices go still for the time being. And then, just when Ed wonders if he's going to have to start punching out more teeth, everything moves. Ed slides back to the stone platform with a thud. He is sopping wet, covered in Envy saliva. Gross.

"Ed!" Ling's hands are on his shoulders immediately, shaking him a little. Ed looks at him. "Ed, what the hell were you thinking! You idiot!"

Ed blinks at him a few times, not fully comprehending. "I think I have a concussion," he says.

Ling pauses, and then he laughs as he leans forward, hugging Ed against his chest. Ed lets him, hoping some of the saliva will rub off; it's pretty nasty, really.

The hug only lasts a brief moment, though. Envy's massive visage is suddenly looming above the two of them. "Enough of this. How are you getting us out of here, Fullmetal?" he rumbles, hovering over them ominously.

"Give me a second," Ed grouses as Ling releases him. His arm is still transmuted into a blade. He won't need that anymore, at least not for the moment. Without thinking, he claps his hands together. Pain shoots through his left arm, and he grits his teeth, hissing, even as he transmutes the metal back into its normal shape. "Ahh—ow."

Ling frowns, carefully taking Ed's elbow and looking at it. It is pretty obviously broken. "We need to set this and bandage it up," he murmurs, glancing around the platform they're sitting on. He crawls off and a moment later, retrieves two long pieces of wood and the strap Ed had been using to carry around Al's hand earlier.

A few moments later, Ed has a splint. It's not much, and it still hurts like hell, but it's a lot better than it was. Ed gets to his feet with a bit of effort and paces once around the fire.

"Are you sure you can get us out of here?" Ling is still sitting, one arm across his chest and the other one his sword. It's clear that he has no intention of trusting Envy. That's all right with Ed; he doesn't really trust Envy either.

"I think so."

"You..._think_ so?"

"Look at this." Ed is studying the bit of mural he found. He can see now how big the piece it. The piece of stone towers over his head. It's just a tiny fragment of it. The original mural had to have been massive. But that's right—Ed has already seen most of the original, hasn't he? He nods. He is sure of it now. "It's a fragment of the Xerxes ruins."

Ling looks at him curiously. Ed recalls him saying something about visiting the ruins on his way to Amestris at one point, so he is fairly confident Ling knows what Ed is talking about. Envy hovers over them impatiently.

"The reason all of this shit is in Gluttony's stomach is to hide the evidence, right?" Ed glances over his shoulder, scowling at Envy. "I'm beginning to understand what you bastards did at Xerxes."

* * *

Ed's plan involves human transmutation.

It's a pretty stupid plan, all around, but it makes sense in some weird, convoluted way—if this is the fake Portal, then maybe opening the _real _Portal will get them back to where they're supposed to be. The only issue is the toll for passing through. Ed doesn't have a whole lot of limbs left to offer.

With a few thundering splashes, Envy makes his way closer to the platform they are on. "So, Fullmetal Alchemist," he says haughtily. He sticks out his disgusting tongue far enough that the glimmer of his philosopher's stone is visible, glittering in the low light from the fire. "This is what you really want, isn't it? You have to pay the toll if you want to go through the Portal. Use it. Come on. Take us home."

The voices have started again, tiny voices begging Ed for help. Ed does his best to ignore him, but it's difficult. "...these are all citizens of Xerxes, aren't they?"

Envy doesn't answer. Instead, he continues as though Ed has said nothing. "Why do you hesitate? I heard you fought Greed down south. You must have really busted him good, right? And surely you know by now that the only way we regenerate is by using the stone's energy."

The words are a slap in Ed's face. Certainly, he knows that. But he hadn't then. So he accidentally forced Greed to use a number of lives from his stone—that wasn't his fault! Greed had kidnapped his little brother! He deserved to be beaten up! And it isn't like Ed knew the consequences then. This is completely different. He can see their faces, each and every one of them.

"Ah, I know what this is about," Envy says suddenly, startling Ed a little. "It's the fact that right now, your little brother exists only as a soul. The only reason that you want to think of these thing as human is because you want to believe that your brother still retains his humanity. What a foolish, childish notion that is."

Ed closes his eyes. Envy is right, one hundred percent right. How are these people any less human than Al?

"These people...they no longer have their own bodies, right?" he asks quietly, looking up at Envy.

"That's right. They lost their bodies and their souls a long time ago in Xerxes. They can never return to their bodies. They can't even remember what they look like. All that is left for them now is to be absorbed as energy," Envy explains flatly. "You must think about this scientifically. Don't let your emotions get in the way." He's close enough now that one of the hands attached to what appears to be his neck reaches out and touches Ed's head. "These souls can never go back to being human."

That is exactly what most people would say about Al, Ed realizes dully. The only reason Al is treated like a human being is because his soul is inside a suit of armor, and no one realizes upon first meeting him that he doesn't actually have a physical body apart from the armor. If, for whatever reason, Al's soul was in a jar or something, no one would treat him like a person. No one would think of him that way. He would just be a soul, like these people.

But is there any other way?

If they don't do this, they'll remain trapped here forever. That much is certain. If Ed opens the Portal without the philosopher's stone as an amplifier, he'll probably die or lose another limb in exchange for the toll, which would make him break all of his promises.

These people don't have lives anymore. They are simply existing, waiting for Envy to use them. Waiting for Ed to use them. He wonders how it would feel.

He thinks maybe...if that were him, maybe he'd want someone to use him up too.

"...all right," he says quietly. He turns to Ling. "Hey. Ling. If anything happens to me, you need to let people on the outside know what these guys are planning to use this country for some dark purpose, all right?"

Ling shoots him a look. "What do I care? Amestris isn't even my country."

"Asshole," Ed grits out, glaring at him.

"There are people you care about who are waiting for you in your country, right?" Ling asks, his expression hardening a little. "Then get out of this place, no matter what! And tell them yourself."

Ed just nods, feeling a little sick about what he needs to do. He looks up at the writhing mass of bodies and heads and limbs hanging above him. How long has it been, he wonders, that anyone has treated these souls as anything but a smaller part of a whole, as a piece of a monster?

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "but I need to use you."

It's time. There is no backing out of it now. He lifts his hands up. The left one, the broken one, does not want to cooperate, but he forces it into a clapping position, wincing a bit as he does so. He grits his teeth, and then he puts his hands together.

The light around them is blinding, filling the space around them infinitely. It feels like that dusty old attic, somehow, claustrophobic and cloying, even though it's a wide open space. He waits with some fear that the light will suddenly turn to that dark, sickly purple that can only mean something has gone wrong, but it doesn't. He finds himself standing, somehow, even though he was kneeling just a moment ago, and the Eye appears beneath him, opening up to look at him.

"Ling," Ed calls, not looking away, "jump in!"

"I'm putting my faith in you, Ed," Ling shouts from somewhere behind him.

Envy goes next, and his heavy voice of a thousand voices makes a few distressed noises as the Eye swallows him up too. And then there is another voice—of course there is, Envy has a million of them—but even as Ed looks over his shoulder, one of the faces is smiling. Smiling. Right at him.

"Thank you," the voice whispers, and then, it is gone.

* * *

_The body and the soul are connected by the spirit._

_A portion of his body is in front of the Portal of truth._

_There is no point in struggling. The soul is a signpost. All he needs to do is surrender himself to his soul and go with the flow...to the Portal._

The door slams, and Ed falls to the ground, holding his broken arm and gasping. That had really fucking hurt. But he's definitely made it. Everything around him is a blinding white. It's not cold enough to be a snowstorm, so it's got to be the right place.

Well, that and the giant stone door stretching out in front of him kind of gives it away.

It looks exactly the same as it had all those years ago, when he had looked at it for the first time. The doors stretch far taller than any door could ever possibly need to be and are not set in any wall. They are adorned with an intricate carving of the Tree of Life. They hover a half a foot off of the floor that Ed is seated on. And any minute now, they are going to open up and let out the millions of tiny black hands they hold within take a hold of him and pull him inside.

Something catches the corner of Ed's vision and he turns around. As he does, he sees across the way, hovering a half foot off the ground a few meters away from him is _another _Portal, identical to the one that he is facing.

And the second thing he notices is that he's not alone.

There's a naked boy sitting there in front of the other Portal, in much the same position as Ed. His hair is the same color as Ed's, hanging straight and long down his back. He is very thin, every single bone in his back etched out in plain sight under pale skin. Ed's breath catches in his throat.

The boy turns around, and Ed would recognize that face anywhere—those eyes as gold as his, that hair the exact same shade of blond—the villagers had always joked that they could have been twins, and—

"AL!"

Ed's on his feet before he can even think to move. This is it—this is Al's body! This is where it's been all this time! He knew it! He had known Al's body was alive somewhere, and here it is! He had hypothesized that their souls were connected, so he might end up in the place where Al's body is! He had been right! Now he just needs to get to it before—

It's already too late. The Portal behind Ed has opened, and the hands are reaching out, pulling him in. He tries again, reaching out, fighting the grasp desperately—"AL!"

Al is moving, turning around and standing up. He looks at Ed, but he doesn't come any closer. Ed's metal hand catches on the doors, and he pulls himself forward as far as he can, reaching, straining, grasping. "Al, come on! Come with me! _Hurry_!"

"I can't," Al says quietly, his voice sounding eerie now that it isn't echoing inside metal. "You're not my soul. I can't go with you."

No. _No!_ Ed is so damn _close,_ he can't give up now! But his body...can't leave here? It makes sense in some weird way; Al came here the first time with his soul, and Ed had pulled just his soul back. So now, Al needs to come here and collect his body himself, he supposes. But that doesn't mean he's okay with just leaving Al's body here now!

He makes one more desperate lunge at the doorway.

"ALPHONSE! One day soon, I'm coming to get you! No matter what!" he shouts to the boy. Al stands there silently, watching him, and the hands pull him further and further in. He points with his automail forefinger through the nearly closed doors, the opening so narrow now that he can only see through with one eye. "Just you _wait._"

The last thing he sees before the Portal slams shut for good is Alphonse's smile—a smile he hasn't seen in five long years.

* * *

It works.

Somehow, miraculously, it works.

Ed is lying in a pile of...well, Envy. Everything hurts like hell. His head is throbbing, his chest hurts, he doesn't even want to talk about how his arm feels, and...god, it's good to be alive. He opens his eyes into slits. The first thing he sees is Al.

_That's funny_, he thinks to himself. _The last thing I saw was Al..._

No, but wait. This is Al's armor. His soul, not his body. Which means...

"We made it back," Ling murmurs, sounding about as worn out as Ed feels. Ed turns his head to the right and finds Ling a few feet away in a similar position to him, leaning against Envy's side in what can only be described as exhaustion. Ed reaches his automail fist to the side, and Ling bumps his own fist against it. Victory. Or something.

Al is kneeling in front of them, aflutter with distress. "All that blood!" he exclaims. "Are you hurt!"

"Don't worry. It's not _my _blood." Ed sits forward slowly, rubbing his sore arm. "Just some broken bones. Nothing to worry about."

"BROTHER!"

Ed is suddenly in a lot more pain than he was five seconds ago. Two metal arms have been flung around him, and they are crushing him to an equally metal chest plate. If there had been any question about his ribs being broken earlier, there is certainly none now. "Ow, ow, ow, Al, quit it, your armor is stabbing me! Ow!"

"Brother, I'm so glad you're okay! I was so worried about you!" Al's voice is trembling somehow, filled with emotion as he systematically breaks every single bone in Ed's body. "Brother, Brother, Brother!"

He finally releases Ed, who sinks to the ground with a growl of pain. "Don't be so dramatic," he snaps, somewhat annoyed. "You worry too much!"

Al backs off a little, but only to lower his head to his brother. "I'm so glad you're okay. I'm so glad you're alive. I was so worried about you, Brother..."

A flashback threatens—Ed, lying in a pool of his own blood, his leg missing and his world in pieces. Mom wasn't Mom, and Al was gone. He had been alone, crying, screaming for someone to help him, but there had been no one. He had been alone. How could he forget that feeling? How could he blame Al for being so happy to see him?

He reaches out his automail hand and places it on Al's head gently. "I'm sorry, Al," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to worry you. I know it was...it was probably painful and scary for you. Sorry."

As he rubs Al's head comfortingly, the same way he might if he had been in his body, Ed glances around. They've ended up in some sort of a dark cavern or something, the likes of which Ed has never seen. There are huge cables lining the floor, pipes over all the walls, and he can't even see the ceiling. It's damp and dank, like they are underground.

"Where are we, anyway? It's dark...are we underground?" Ed asks, studying whatever he can see in the low lighting of the room. "Is it—"

And then, he sees someone he hadn't noticed before. A man, robed in white, standing above them, watching. He has long blond hair and a well trimmed beard, a style which Ed has only ever seen once before in his life.

"Well, this is a surprise," the man says in a very familiar voice.

"...von Hohenheim!" Ed demands, leaning back a little.

Yes, he remembers this face clearly from his childhood. The hair is a little different—Hohenheim had always kept it pulled back in a ponytail when Ed had been a child, but now it's down, cascading freely around his shoulders. There are no glasses on his face now, and he seems to have aged a bit (_of course he has, I haven't seen him in twelve years_), but the features are unmistakable.

But the man's actions are strange. He studies them both intently for a few moments, and then suddenly leans in, peering at them eagerly. "You wouldn't happen to be the Elric brothers, would you?" he demands enthusiastically.

It isn't really so strange that he doesn't recognize them—Al, especially—since they had been tiny children when he left so long ago. But for him to ask if they are the Elric brothers, rather than if they are Edward and Alphonse, the two children he left alone with their mother more than a decade ago seems rather strange. Ed frowns, thinking. "You're not him," he murmurs, half to himself.

"Hm? Are you perhaps mistaking me for someone else?" the man asks, looking a bit confused. "Wait a moment. You said...von...von Hohenheim!" And once again, he is in their faces, only inches away and looking terribly over excited. "You're talking about von Hohenheim?"

This guy is _creepy_.

"How do you know him?" the man who isn't Hohenheim demands.

"He's our father," Al says carefully while Ed hovers sort of halfway behind his brother.

There is a long pause, and then, once again, he is inches away from them. "Your father?" he exclaims jovially, and this time, he actually reaches out and grabs Ed's head. Ed tries to jerk away, the motion painful on his sore head and body, but the man's grip is solid. "What a surprise! I never knew he had children! Hahaha! But wait, isn't your family name Elric?"

Ed jerks away finally, pushing this idiot's hands away from his head. "Our mother's name was Elric! Our mother and father never married!" he growls in annoyance.

"Ah! I see! I never realized it, since you took your mother's name," the man responds, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Where is he now?"

"How the hell should I know!" Ed demands, very annoyed at the situation. He really, really hates discussing the topic of his father, the bastard that had abandoned them years and years ago. "We're not even on the same family register!"

"So...he is alive..." The man steps away, muttering to himself.

"Wait a minute! Who are you, anyway!" Ed demands. "You look—just like him!"

The man is ignoring him, still murmuring halfway under his breath. "Naturally, he isn't dead. And to think! He has children."

"Listen to me!" Ed shouts, angry at being ignored.

The man turns back to look at him, considering him slowly. "Are you injured?" he finally asks, and Ed resists the urge to punch him for stupidity. Of _course _he's fucking injured. His head is wrapped up in bandages from before this entire situation began, he's said the word "ow" approximately five thousand times in the last ten minutes, and he's got a splint on his arm! What the hell is wrong with this guy! "Your younger brother has no left hand."

Al's hand! Shit! Where had he left it! He thinks back. He had taken it off of his back while they had taken their break on that flattened stone pillar, and he'd never put it back on. Envy had interrupted their break. He must have left it there.

"Shit! I'm sorry, Al! I left your hand inside of Gluttony!" he exclaims.

"No way!" Al protests, holding up his left arm and revealing the sheared off metal where his hand is supposed to be. "Can you fix this?"

Ed thinks. If he could just quick open the Portal up again and take Al with him, that would eliminate the need for him to give Al a hand, wouldn't it? "Actually, I saw your physical body when I was..."

The man suddenly reaches over and touches the area of Al's arm where his hand ought to be. There's a flash of red light, and Ed watches in surprise as there, transmuted out of _nothing_, is Al's hand. There is a moment of silence, and Al wiggles his fingers experimentally. They work just fine.

"How is that?" the man asks, but no one responds. He turns to Ed and grasps his arm with the splint. Ed makes a strangled sound of pain as agony shoots through his entire arm. "It's broken," the man says with a slight frown.

"No _shit_," Ed grits out, just before the same red light engulfs his arm. When the man lets go of his arm, the pain has vanished completely. He moves his fingers—the alchemy had healed the fracture completely. There is no pain at all. Ed pulls the splint off in surprise. How the hell had he done that?

The man starts touching Ed's shoulders and head, apparently looking around for various other injuries. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Head?" he asks. Another flash, and Ed's headache disappears. "Shoulders? No. Ribs?"

_Yes, _ribs. Ed gasps in pain—only to have his broken ribs fixed a moment later.

What the hell?

There is no way to transmute without some sort of a circle, at least that is what Ed has lived this far believing. Sure, he doesn't use a circle to transmute in the conventional meaning, but he still makes a circle with his body when he claps. This guy didn't even do that much. And he hadn't made Al's armor any thinner when he had made him a new arm. He was breaking all the laws of alchemy. Even alchemy can't make something out of nothing.

"You two are vital assets," the man says calmly, looking them over. "Keep yourselves in top condition. Any other injuries?"

This guy isn't making any sense, and Ed isn't sure what to think. He must have a philosopher's stone _somewhere _to have done what he did, but even with the stone, he shouldn't have been able to transmute without a circle.

"Uh, Ling's hurt too, isn't he?" Al asks, and Ed suddenly remembers that Ling is there too.

When he turns to look at Ling, though, he is surprised to find the prince standing with his sword pointed straight at the mysterious man in white. His sword hand is trembling and his eyes are wide. His left arm is still holding his side. It's a defensive posture—something about this guy is scaring the hell out of Ling, that much is for sure.

A wave of concern rushes over Ed at the sight of the other boy. Ling is hurt, and badly. His ribs are probably worse than Ed's were, and he'd been pretty beat up when they'd gotten stuck in this situation in the first place. Ed doesn't like this guy, but if he can help Ling, then he's all for it.

But Ling doesn't appear to want the help. "What _are _you?" he demands. "It can't be! You—you're not _human _inside, are you? What the hell is going on!"

The man turns his head slightly, for the first time acknowledging Ling's presence. "I'd like to ask you the same thing," he says lowly, his voice turning icy and decidedly unfriendly all of the sudden. "Who are _you_?" There is a pause, and the man waves his hand absently to one of the homunculi. "Go ahead and eat him, Gluttony."

Gluttony grins happily, his hands coming up in excitement as he stands. "Okay!"

"Wait!" Ed finds himself jumping between the man in white and Ling. He apparently has some sort of clout with this guy, just because Hohenheim is his father, so he's going to damn well use it. "Wait, stop, he's my friend. Just back off a minute. For me, okay?"

Gluttony pauses, glancing at the blond man. "I don't know him," the man says, his voice flat and emotionless. "He's useless to me. What is a useless boy like that doing down here? Your friend? I couldn't care less. All that matters is whether you serve my needs."

Ed had not had a particularly _good _feeling about this guy from the get-go, but his opinion has just dropped another good deal. "What the hell!"

"Brother—this guy, he's the one the homunculi call Father," Al informs him.

Great, tell him that _now_, after all this shit starts going down. Ed clenches his fists and scowls. "So, in other words, he's the super villain."

Al nods. "Seems so. But he did heal us..."

Of course he'd healed them. It's starting to make sense now. The homunculi keep calling Ed and Al human sacrifices, saying they need to stay alive, even going so far as to protect them in the past. Of course their 'father,' the man who had created them in the first place, whom they take orders from, would also want to keep Ed and Al alive.

The man is looking past Ed's shoulder now, at Ling. Ed can't see what the prince is doing, since he's trying to keep himself between the psychotic guy and Ling, but Ling lets him know well enough where he is standing when he opens his mouth.

"I don't like the look in your eyes, or your attitude," Ling growls out. Ed glances over his shoulder at the other, but Ling isn't done yet. "You're definitely the boss of the homunculi. They mock humans, call us fools. You have that same look in your eyes."

"Fools?" Father looks at Ling with an attitude of vague distaste. "I would never call you that. Do you look at the insects on the ground and consider them fools? No matter how an insect struggles, they're so far beneath you that it's impossible to care about them one way or the other, right?" His gaze narrows. "That is _exactly _how I feel about you humans."

That's it. Now Ed is pissed. This bastard comes out of nowhere, makes a bunch of asshole homunculi who feel the need to start _wars_, he's going to use the country for his next philosopher's stone, and it's because he thinks humans are like insects? No, sir. Not on Edward Elric's watch. He has already clapped by the time Father is done speaking, and the ground leaps up into sharp spikes in a line straight up to the jackass of all jackasses himself.

Ed isn't surprised when a block of stone shoots up directly in front of the old bastard, blocking the progression of spikes. Father hadn't so much as blinked to block the attack, but it had happened anyway. It's driving Ed insane.

It's Envy who reacts to this. His huge head swiveling toward Ed and his massive teeth snapping in anger. "How dare you!" he snarls, and Ed ignores him.

"I don't care if you did heal our wounds—I still don't like you, old man!" Ed shouts. "Whatever you are, you're the root of all this evil! I'm going to finish you off so we can get the hell out of here!"

"Ed, wait!" Ling calls from somewhere to his right. "It's too dangerous to go after him like this! We need some sort of a plan!"

Like Ed _ever _needs a plan. And when he has one, he doesn't usually follow it anyway. So what's the point, huh? "That's way too much trouble!"

"Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'If you want to shoot the general, first shoot his horse'!"

"If you want to shoot the general, you should just shoot the damn general!" Ed huffs angrily, a plan formulating in his mind. "Let's make this short. I don't have time to waste on cronies."

The result, of course, is Envy's claw stamping down two feet in front of Ed, and an enraged homunculus glaring down at him ominously. "Who are you calling a crony, little boy!" he demands, his enormous tongue and its tangle of limbs lolling out of his mouth.

Ed's eye twitches at the word 'little.' He claps his hands together, and behind him, he hears Al's leather hands slam together as well. They press their palms against the cement floor at the same time, and the ground comes to life. Cables like those lining the walls all around them leap from the rock, cascading toward Gluttony and Envy. Al's cables, just as Ed had expected, continue toward the homunculi. Gluttony catches one cable in his mouth happily while Envy just swipes his to the side.

"Ha!" the giant homunculus bellows. "You didn't think _that_ could stop me, did you?"

What neither of the homunculi notice is that Ed's attack has gone right around the both of them and straight toward the man behind them. The cables snake up the platform Father is standing on and wrap around him, trapping him where he stands.

"_He_ was my target from the start!" Ed shouts triumphantly. "I've captured the boss!"

His glee lasts about thirty seconds, before the stone cables shatter around the man and back into nothing. What the hell is he doing? What's the trick?

Envy is back on his feet by this point, and he takes a swipe at Ed. Ed leaps backwards and is pleased to discover that Envy's attacks are much easier to deflect when not standing in a half foot of blood. Al deflects the next blow, and Ed uses the leverage of the random body parts attached to Envy's leg as a lift as he scales the monster. Something's head makes a great step, and then he grabs hold of a strand of disgusting black hair, with which he yanks himself up.

Once he's on top of Envy's head, it's a simple matter to slam his automail elbow down on top of the homunculus' head. "That," he shouts as the hulking creature stumbles in surprise, "is for calling me 'little,' you bastard!"

Envy is hardly out of the count, but he's stunned for the moment. This is Ed's chance; Gluttony is mostly sitting to the side, looking confused as to what to do. Ed runs down Envy's body and leaps off of his tail. Father is only meters away, and Ed takes a flying leap at him, right foot extended in a kick. Once again, the man doesn't move, and just when Ed thinks he's going to actually hit him, a foot thick stone wall leaps up in front of him. His foot smashes into it instead, and his knee makes a disconcerting popping noise as he slams full force into that.

Al's attack comes next, even as Ed tries to force his sore leg to cooperate; giant stone hands come up to encircle the man. This time, Father actually waves a hand to his side, and every single one of Al's attacks crumbles to dust.

Somehow, during all of this, Ling has managed to get behind the old man. There's a flash of black, and suddenly, there is the prince, descending down on Father, his sword on a path to bisect him. Normally, Ed would have been opposed to this, as he doesn't believe in killing. But somehow, after all this fighting with the homunculi and all this regeneration business, combined with the fact that they haven't even managed to scratch this guy yet...well, Ed finds himself blatantly not caring.

It isn't as though it matters. Ling is maybe a foot away when another stone wall smashes into his gut, using his forward momentum against him as it slams him backwards with a sick-sounding crack. Just before it throws him backwards, Ed can see a look of absolute agony on his face. "Ling!" Ed shouts, breaking from Al's side and running over to Ling. His knee is sore, but it carries him without much issue.

Ling is on his hands and knees, sword still clutched in his right hand and left crossed over his chest. He coughs up a mouthful of blood as Ed dashes to his side. He's obviously hurt badly, and Ed can't help him if he can't get him out of here.

How is this bastard with a beard getting the better of them? The three of them are hardly amateurs when it comes to fighting, but they're not even able to get close. The man isn't transmuting, or at least it doesn't seem like he possibly _could _be. Even those with hidden transmutation circles had to at least make a motion to activate them. This Father guy isn't even doing that. How is this even possible!

"This is a waste of time," the old man states, as though he has just been reading the paper. He takes one step forward—Ed goes to clap—

Light fills the chamber suddenly, and a gust of wind comes out of nowhere, blocking back Ed's hair and echoing through the chamber ominously. Everything goes still for a moment—no attacks, no words, nothing. And then, as quickly as it had started, the light fades and the wind dies down.

Ed catches Al's gaze from the other side of the chamber, and they clap in unison. Ed presses his palms to the floor and—

...nothing happens.

This has never happened to Ed before. Confused, he lifts his hands and claps them again. Nothing. No familiar ebb of power in his palms, no electricity leaping from his fingertips, no ability to will the earth to heed his command. Nothing. Not even a tiny lick of power.

"What are you doing!" Ling demands, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "Transmute!"

"I...I _can't_," Ed responds, looking at his hands, as though they will hold the answer. On the other side of the chamber, Al seems to be having the same problem. Ed looks up at the one called Father. "What did you do, you bearded bastard?"

Without warning, Ed feels himself being slammed into the ground. Ling lets out a sound of distress, and Ed jerks around. Envy is leering down at the two of them, grinning down sadistically at them. His claw, Ed belatedly realizes as Ling's sword skitters across the ground and out of reach, his claw is pinning Ed to the ground. Ling is in a similar position a few feet away.

"Brother!" Al shouts, rushing toward them. "Ling!"

Too late, he looks up just in time to see Gluttony crash into him. The two of them roll a few times, but Al ends up flat on his chest, with Gluttony sitting on his back with a gleeful expression on his face.

Oh, _shit._

There is only one thought going through Ed's hand. _Ling is going to die. This bastard is going to kill him. Ling is going to die._

"Envy, you bastard!" Ed shouts, struggling in the homunculus' grip, but the claw just closes down on him harder. "Let me up!"

Envy just laughs, his normally high pitched laugher low and ominous, echoing through the dank chamber they're in. "Don't try anything, little boy!" he shouts gleefully, and Ed snarls.

The old man is walking toward them, his sandaled feet making quiet taps in the sudden silence of the cavern. Ed's breath hitches, and Ling is making a strangled noise. Father walks directly over to Ling and kneels down in front of him.

Ed calculates. If he could just somehow manage to get out from Envy's grip, he could tackle the man away from Ling. He doesn't have any weapons but his fists, now that he can't seem to use alchemy, but it'd be better than nothing. Maybe this means the old man can't use alchemy too?

"You have a lot of guts for a human," Father murmurs thoughtfully. "Endurance too. It would be a shame to waste all of that." Ling is staring up at him like he's crazy, but Ed feels a touch of hope. The old bearded bastard isn't going to kill Ling?

The man touches one finger to his forehead. "You'd make a good pawn."

Silence. It's Ed's turn to stare at Father in disbelief. What the hell is he talking about? Ling would never willingly serve this jerk! Ling doesn't take orders from anyone! He's a prince, as he is so keen to remind them every so often. Ling has his own minions who follow him around. He certainly isn't going to drop everything and follow this asshole around.

Unless, Ed thinks to himself, unless the reward is very great. Unless it is this or death, perhaps? No, Ling is too noble for that.

When Father takes his finger away from his forehead, something gruesome appears there—a third eye. It looks like the one inside of Gluttony, Ed thinks, the one that opens beneath him when he opens the Portal. The one inside the Portal, except in the center of Father's forehead.

The eye seems to tear up, except the tear seems to be of blood at first. It gathers into a large tear, oozing the red liquid out until a large droplet leaks out and falls into Father's hand. The eye closes then, and Ed stares in abject horror as the tear congeals into a stone.

_The philosopher's stone._

There is no mistake about it.

What the hell!

"It just so happens," Father says lowly, the stone half leaking out of his hand, "that Greed's position is currently vacant."

Ed's mind is reeling. Greed? The homunculus, the one he had met in the Devil's Nest down in Dublith? That Greed? How the hell does this guy intend to bring Greed back? The military had taken Greed, which means Father must have had brought him back here. If the position is open, that implies that Greed is dead, which doesn't surprise Ed.

Al lets out a gasp of surprise from underneath Gluttony's bulk. "That's...that's a philosopher's stone!"

Ling's eyes are riveted on Father's hand.

_Unless the reward is very great..._

And Ed wonders suddenly just how far Ling would go to get his hands on that philosopher's stone.

"Ah," Envy says, still grinning that sadistic grin, "so that's what you are going to do, hmm, Father?" The old man reaches down and carefully removes the square bandage from Ling's face, revealing a cut he'd gotten earlier. The scab torn off, it starts bleeding again immediately.

Envy looks down at Ed, sneering. "He's going to put that philosopher's stone directly into your friend's blood stream. If all goes well, a human-based homunculus will be born."

"What?" Ed demands, another trill of fear going down his spine. "That's—that's a high energy substance, that's got a bunch of _souls _in it! If you put that inside of him—"

"That's right," Envy boasts. "The spirits inside the stone will be at war with that of your friend. But if his body is able to withstand the struggle, he will gain immense power." Ling shifts then, still frowning, hands still clenched into fists, but there is something _greedy _in his eyes. Ed doesn't like it, not one bit. "Of course," the homunculus continues, "the stone's energy usually kills the host."

Ling's expression barely changes. And that's when Ed realizes that Ling is damn well bound and determined to see this through.

No.

_No._

Rage encompasses Ed, a slow, burning rage that engulfs his entire being. He is not letting this old bastard use that philosopher's stone on Ling. He is not letting Ling get himself killed trying to achieve that power. He is not letting these assholes get away with it. He won't allow it.

Using every last bit of his strength, Ed pushes upwards with both hands. Envy's grip slides just a bit, and Ed squirms forward just before the claw slams down on him again. Now his arms are free but his legs are still trapped. Not dissuaded, Ed claps his hands together in one last ditch effort to get his alchemy to work, but, as it had the last time, there's not even a hint of the power he can usually command.

"Envy! Let me GO!" he howls, struggling mightily and clapping again with the same results. He can hear Al trying to transmute across the lair too, giant leather-covered hands slapping the ground ineffectually. "DAMN IT! What is going on? Why can't I transmute! Ling! You can't fucking do this to him, you bearded bastard! LET ME GO!"

And Envy just presses down on him even harder, pressing the cold steel of Hawkeye's gun against Ed's back.

The gun. How the hell had he forgotten about that damn gun? This is his last chance. Using every last bit of maneuverability he has, he twists around and yanks the gun out of the back of his pants with his left hand. He jerks around and aims the gun at Envy. "ENVY, GET OUT OF MY WAY!" he bellows, his hand trembling slightly with rage.

But when he turns around, the part of Envy closest to him is one of the many faces protruding from his body. Its eyes are wide and its mouth open, and there are tears streaming down its face. "You wouldn't shoot a face in tears," Envy comments lowly, "would you, little boy?"

And damn it all to hell, but Ed hesitates. Envy knows his weakness.

"Don't shoot, Ed," Ling calls, and when Ed turns, there's a slightly maniacal gleam in his eye. "This is what I _want._ Stay out of this."

_Not a chance, asshole._ Ed glares at him, jaw set and one fist still clenched around the gun. Envy knows his weakness, yes, but that doesn't change anything. An enemy never defeats him by exploiting the same weakness twice. Never.

_This is a tool for protecting people_, is what Hawkeye had said about the gun in his hand. This entire ordeal, this is about protecting Ling. All the shouting, all the fighting—this Father guy wants him and Al alive, so this entire ordeal has been solely for Ling's benefit. Allowing him to accept a homunculus into his body is not an adequate way to protect him.

Ed will protect Ling, no matter what.

Father moves, and Ed does too.

_"If you want to shoot the general, you should just shoot the damn general!"_

He swivels around, gun still in hand, and he aims it at Father's head. He doesn't hesitate this time before he pulls the trigger.

The recoil from the shot throws his arm off, and his next shot goes wide. Before he can get a third shot in, Envy's tail slices across his hand, slicing a sizeable welt into his palm. The gun clatters across the ground and out of sight.

And Father, bleeding bullet wound in his head, slowly turns to look at Ed. The bullet works its way out of the wound, flattened and scorched, and it rolls to the floor. The wound closes a moment later, leaving a small welt in its place.

"Damn it, Ed, I told you to stay out of this!" Ling hisses.

Ed glowers at him. He had been ready to _kill _for his benefit, and this is what he gets?

"Foolish children," Father sighs, turning back toward Ling. "So. You desire my avarice, do you? How very interesting." The man tilts his hand, and the liquefied philosopher's stone slides out of his hand, falling as if in slow motion toward the cut on Ling's cheek.

Not going to happen. Ed's maneuvering earlier has won him enough leverage to dive forward. He shoves his left hand between the stone and Ling's face. If he can get his hands on that stone, maybe he can transmute again, and then Envy and Father had better look the fuck out. And then he's going to punch Ling in the fucking face—

He doesn't realize his mistake until too late. The stone sizzles into the open cut on his hand, disappearing completely into his bloodstream.

"Oh, _shit._"

Ed stares at his hand in horror for a moment, and then—then, there's nothing but pain.

* * *

The pain is like no other Ed has ever experienced, not when his arm and leg were torn off, not when he had replaced them with automail. It isn't necessarily something that hurts _more_, but rather something that is more intense.

He likens it to having a hundred nails driven into his head all at the same time. Envy has stepped back, releasing Ed, but it is hardly like he can escape now anyway. His hands come up, clutching his head, and a thousand voices scream into his ears. He can hear himself screaming, taste the blood in his throat, feel the electricity stabbing through his spinal cord, sending a rush of agony to every part of him.

Al is screaming his name, Ling is shouting something, but other than that, Ed is unaware of the outside world. This pain is all internal, he realizes, except for the fire shooting through his veins. His body is dying, dying and regenerating; he can feel it, feel the souls inside of his body crumbling away as they are forced to fix his failing organs.

Inside of his mind, Ed is in another place altogether. He is suspended in midair, the inhabitants of the stone swirling around him eerily. They're screaming, pounding against him, crowding him in his own fucking _head_, demanding to know who he is, why he's here, and he can't answer because it hurts too damn much to think. They explode through his body, or whatever he has here. It's too much, it's too damn much, and he's going to lose and he's going to die and...

...no, no, no, no, _no_.

Who is going to put Al back into his body, if Ed dies now?

Who is going to kick Ling upside the head for being an idiot?

He had promised Winry he wouldn't make her cry anymore. He had promised Al that they would get their bodies back together. He had even once promised Mustang that he would not die before the dumb ass colonel did.

He can't die here, for all the same reasons he couldn't die inside of Gluttony. He has to tell the world about this old man down here plotting to destroy Amestris. He has to achieve his goals. He has to...

...has to...to...stay alive.

And then he hears it—all inside his head—someone is laughing. Someone is cackling madly inside of his own head—_not just his anymore_—cackling and it's driving him crazy. He twists, and—

This soul is much bigger than the rest, or maybe it's just made up of a thousand tiny souls; he can't tell. It's a face that he knows, and yet not really a face at all. And yet, it's as plain as day who this is. Greed's ultimate form; his carbonized face, fangs, narrow eyes; the Ultimate Shield, except made up of a hundred interlocking souls. Laughing, laughing, always laughing.

"What's this kid doing here! Are you lost, short stuff?" Greed asks, and Ed can't even properly feel rage about it, because there is too much else happening. "No matter. Just sit back, relax, and let your friendly neighborhood Greed take over!"

Ed's first impulse is to fight. His first impulse is pretty much _always _to fight. But at the same time, he wonders—what had Envy said? His body has to live through this, first of all; if he fights this, it's a battle he's going to lose. The souls piercing his body are wearing him down already. How would he ever be able to withstand an attack from Greed himself?

What are his other options? To let Greed in, to allow this creature access to his body? It seems that this is an all or nothing sort of deal. Accept Greed and live, or fight and die.

_"Of _course_ I would! I'd sell my soul to the devil if it meant surviving!"_

_"The drive to survive is admirable, but at any cost?"_

_"Shut up! Humanity is all about survival! If you don't have what it takes, then you don't deserve to survive!"_

Survival at all costs. That is what he had said, isn't it? As long as you're alive, you have a chance to accomplish what you had set out to do.

"All right, Greed," Ed shouts, his mouth turning up at the corners in something akin to a maniacal grin. _Survival at all costs._ "I accept you. This body is yours!"

"Just hand it over, kid, and—what?"

"I said, I accept! I'll move over and let you drive for a while. I'm submitting. How many ways do you want me to say it, dumb ass?"

There is a moment of silence while Ed grits his teeth against another barrage of souls. Greed peers at him carefully. "Maybe you didn't understand the first time," he comments. "A stranger—me, primarily—is trying to take over your body. Utterly and completely. There's no going back with this. Are you sure you don't want to back out?"

"Listen, Greed—you're hardly a stranger, first of all. We met back in Dublith," Ed comments, grinning savagely at the specter in front of him. "Secondly, I think this deal will be advantageous—_aghh_," and a soul slams through his chest, full force, "—advantageous to both of us. You see, if I say no, you're going to kill me. I'm all for things that don't involve death, see. I've got a few things I need to do before I go. And you see, if I die, you also don't get a body at all. Sounds—_mmmph_—reasonable, right?"

Once again, Greed goes silent, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his not-face. And then he laughs again. "You sure talk big for such a little shit," he retorts, howling with laughter. "You think I'm going to play nice? You think I'm going to _share_?"

"Oh, hell no—_ahhh_—I'm not delusional. I know you; I know you're the physical manifestation of greed. But see, I'm not the kind of guy who gives up easily, see. Like I said, I've got too much to live for to let you kill me—_rrrgh_—now!"

"Ha! Fine, kid. I'll take over, but I don't think it's going to be as pleasant as you think it is!" Greed laughs, edging right up to Ed's face. "You'd better not regret this!"

"Regret? Not—not a damn chance!" Ed shouts back at him. "I'm not going to die just because you're an asshole. Take it, or leave me the—_nngh_—hell alone!"

"Well, if you insist, who am I to say no?" Greed bellows, and then bursts into another laugh. "Move on over, kid, Greed is taking the driver's seat! Show me what you're made of, brat!"

And then Greed's specter, the illusion of a face, comes straight at him, engulfing him, and he screams—fingers, Greed's fingers, they're in his brain, icy and sharp and prying, forcing him out of his own consciousness. _I can withstand this! I can live through this! I _have _to be stronger than this!_ His mind is not his own; he's just a voice now. Someone has slipped a mask over his face—over his _mind_—and he moves but not of his own accord.

He sees out of eyes that aren't his, he kneels on legs that don't belong to him. His mind thinks thoughts that he isn't thinking. He is Greed, but he isn't Greed, he is Edward Elric.

His hand reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, but it doesn't; he is just watching as Greed goes through the motions. "Ow...ugh."

And then, Greed stands up, and Ed steps back inside of his own mind.


	3. Part 3 : Effect, 2

**Title:** Causality, Part 3/3  
**Series:** Fullmetal Alchemist (manga)  
**Pairing:** Ling/Ed  
**Warning:** Spoilers for Chapter 51 in the manga.  
**Summary:** cau·sal·i·ty : the relation of cause and effect. Things go a little differently in Gluttony's stomach, and the end result changes everything.

* * *

Part III – Effect, 2.

_i._

It takes Ling a full five-count to realize exactly what had happened when Ed had idiotically thrust out his hand between the philosopher's stone and Ling's face. He is so stunned when it happens, that he doesn't seem to be able to quite acknowledge it, until Ed starts screaming.

With Envy still a constant pressure on his back and chest, Ling's only option is to watch. His hands are clenched into fists and his teeth gritted together in anger and frustration. "Goddamn it, Ed, that was _mine_!" he hisses, knowing full well that nothing he does now will really matter. This was his chance, the chance that Ed has just _ripped away _from him.

The look on Ed's face as it happened though at least spelled out that he hadn't _meant _to, but that doesn't mean Ling isn't angry.

Of course, he's also terrified. Ed is writhing on the floor, gagging up blood and convulsing. His howls of pain are so loud that he's drowning out Al's cries of distress. Gluttony seems to be having a harder and harder time holding the boy down.

And Ed—stupid, idiotic, beautiful, big-hearted Ed, trying so damn hard to protect Ling from this that he accidentally takes it on himself—Ed's screams are tearing Ling apart.

_That could have been me,_ he thinks, and then revises: _That _should _have been me._

That stone should have been his.

If this thing, whatever it is, kills Ed, Ling is never going to forgive him.

Dimly, through his haze of shock and resentment, somewhere under Ed's screaming, Ling hears Envy address the evil man. "Father! Is there any way to stop it?" he asks. His voice holds concern, but it isn't concern for Ed's sake, that Ling is certain of.

"No. It is...unfortunate," the old man says with some disgust. He watches Ed convulse on the ground with some vague disinterest. The old bastard doesn't even care. "He's quite valuable. It's a shame...though if he lives through it, it will make things a bit easier when the time comes."

"Will he live?" Envy inquires.

The evil man considers this for a moment. "He is von Hohenheim's son," he finally comments. "If anyone could live through it, it would be the son of that man."

Envy's head dips down a little, and Ling shrinks back away from him in disgust. "You are right, of course, Father," the homunculus says. "We'll just have to wait and see."

It is about that time that Ed stops moving. He is on his hands and knees, his eyes so wide and his pupils so tiny that it is hard to see any color in them at all. His fingers are frozen in mid-spasm, clawing at the ground beneath him. He lets out a long sigh, and then closes his eyes and sits back until he is on his knees and reaches his hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Ow...ugh."

All eyes in the chamber are riveted on Ed as he stands up slowly. His eyes are hidden under his hair, but Ling can already sense something different about him, something strange. It's hard to tell with this many other horrible creatures in the room exactly what the difference is, though.

"Ed?" he calls, echoing Al's own desperate inquiry.

Ed doesn't answer them, not either one of them. He rubs a metal hand over his face, and then draws it back with some apparent surprise, looking down at his automail.

"Ed," Ling shouts again. "Hey! Ed!"

This time, Ed finally looks at him. But when he turns, Ling draws back involuntarily, realizing immediately somehow that this is not Ed any longer. His eyes are no longer the stunning gold that had first captures Ling's attention when they had first met—they are now a deep, unsettling blood red. And they are regarding Ling without the slightest hint of recognition.

"Oh...you must be talking about that brat that was in this body before," Ed—no, _not _Ed—responds, glancing over at Ling. His voice is still Ed's voice, but Ed has never once sounded like _that_. "Hmm. I'm not used to being this close to the ground."

This is _definitely _not Ed.

The creature in Ed's body wiggles his metal fingers absently, looking at them. "And this thing here is kind of weird, but hell. It's a nice body." He grins, clenching his left fist in front of him, and Ling can see for the first time the homunculus symbol tattooed on the back of it. "Thanks, Father. I could definitely get used to this!"

"Well, well," Envy calls conversationally, not moving a bit from Ling's back. "Look who's back. I guess all that's left of that arrogant little brat is the shell of his body. Forgive me if your new form disgusts me, Greed."

"Ha!" Ed—_Greed_—grins and cracks his neck. "You ain't much to look at yourself."

Envy growls in annoyance, but Gluttony is waving eagerly from where he sits on top of Al. "Happy birthday, Greed! It's nice to meet you! Congratulations! I'm Gluttony, and that's Envy!" he calls eagerly, grinning widely.

It's like some sort of twisted reunion, Ling thinks as he watches Greed kneel in front of Father and thank him for his existence. This isn't what Ling had had in mind when they had talked about putting a philosopher's stone into his blood stream. Maybe Ed had lost the fight and Greed had overtaken him completely. Ling feels a gnawing sense of loss.

"Greed?" Al calls from across the room, and all the attention in the room is suddenly on the armored boy. He is looking straight at what used to be his brother. "Are you...are you _that _Greed? The one I met in Dublith?"

Ling isn't sure what Al is talking about, and apparently, neither is Greed. "Who the hell is this _other _Greed you're talking about?" Greed asks, frowning and crouching next to Al, peering at him quizzically.

"He is talking about the Greed that came before you," Father says calmly.

"Oh! I get it now." Greed nods. "Sorry, guy. I'm a different Greed than the one you met. Pretty bad ass armor you got there, though." He taps Al's forehead.

This is inconceivable. There is Ed's body, kneeling next to Al, and telling him that his armor is bad ass? If it hadn't already been abundantly clear that Ed is no longer here, it is now. Ling feels very cold in a way that has little to do with his injuries. "What did you do with Ed?" he calls.

"Ed? Is that the kid whose body this was?" Greed straightens up, looking thoughtfully over to Ling. "He was a friend of yours? He was a funny little brat. He accepted me without even a struggle. Sorry about that. This body belongs to Greed now."

That doesn't sound like Ed. Not at all. Why would Ed ever let this creature in without a fight? Ed can't do anything without a struggle. Even their one real kiss had been something of a struggle for dominance. It isn't like Ed just to let something go like this, especially for such a price. Ling is having a lot of trouble believing this.

No. He can't believe that. Ed still has to be in there, somewhere. He must still think he has an advantage somehow. But _where_? Greed seems to have absolute control.

Before he can respond, though, there is a crash from the far end of the chamber. Ling cranes his neck to look, watching as a giant wrought iron door swings open ominously. From the entryway walks a chimera, a disgusting conglomeration of a horse, a lion, and probably some sort of reptile, judging from the scales on its back. Before Ling can get a good look at it, it staggers to the side, lets out a pitiful sounding howl, and then collapses.

Behind it stand two people. One is the Ishbalan from before, the one called Scar. And next to him, half hiding behind his leg, is a little Xingese girl.

A tiny panda bear erupts from somewhere within Al's armor and tears its way up to the girl. How the hell had Al gotten a panda bear? The girl and the bear embrace, and it is all very touching. Greed even starts clapping slowly and mimes wiping a tear from his eye.

"That's the Ishbalan I didn't get to eat!" Gluttony howls sadly, pointing directly at Scar.

What the hell is going on? How did these people get down here? The little girl and Scar have some sort of a conversation, but Ling is too far away to hear them. Scar points at Greed, and the little girl suddenly looks like her world has ended.

"More foolish humans who won't submit," Father says lowly, looking somewhat annoyed. "That one has been using destructive alchemy to get in the way of our plans." His expression doesn't change as he regards Gluttony and Al. "Gluttony, go ahead and eat him."

Gluttony breaks into a wide grin. "Okay!" Arms flung to the sides eagerly, the homunculus charges Scar, leaving Al unguarded. "You can't use your alchemy, now!"

Scar simply lifts one hand, his right, and Gluttony's side promptly explodes.

"What?" Envy shouts, and the evil man at the center of the chamber is suddenly wearing an expression other than bored disinterest—he's shocked.

Al, now free from Gluttony, claps his hands together and slams them against the ground, but just like before, nothing happens. What the hell is going on? Why can Scar use his alchemy, but Al can't? Ling doesn't understand anything about alchemy, but it seems like whatever is keeping Al from his should also be keeping Scar from it.

And then, the little girl is moving. A number of throwing darts erupt from her hand and fall in a perfectly circular pattern at Greed's feet. Greed blinks at them just before the girl sets off her own array, and suddenly, Greed is flying through the air in the wake of a giant fist. For a moment, Ling worries for Ed before remembering that Ed doesn't seem to be present any longer.

This is a fairly standard form of the Xingese purification arts, but still, it's alchemy. Perhaps Father's attack had only affected Ed and Al? But then, why would the evil man look so surprised when Scar had used it? He doesn't look any less surprised about the girl using it.

Greed, having landed a few meters away from Ling and Envy, is sitting up, rubbing his head. "Jeez, what the hell is this little brat's problem, hmm?" he grunts. "She seems a bit young for me."

The Xingese girl is rushing toward him, more daggers in her hands. "YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THE NAÏVETÉ OF A PURE MAIDEN, YOU TINY LITTLE MONSTER MAN," she howls. Ling thinks she looks sort of familiar, but he isn't sure who she is.

"Whoa, whoa, little lady, just hang on a minute," Greed responds, holding up his hands. "Look, I don't know what this guy did to you before he gave me his body, but I can promise you that you and I have never met, all right?"

The girl skids to a stop, still frowning. The panda is now on her shoulder, hissing and bearing its claws in what is probably supposed to be a menacing manner. "You...don't feel like you," she says slowly. "You changed."

Ling suddenly hears the sound of a low, rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Envy is angry, angry at being jail keeper while the two other homunculi fight. The evil man makes an offhanded gesture in his general direction. "Envy, go. Your quarry won't get far in his shape. Get rid of the Ishbalan."

Envy is pleased at this direction, and Ling lets out a groan of relief as the pressure on his spine is relieved. If the sound of distress from the entrance of the room is any indication, Gluttony isn't faring so well against Scar. Ling doesn't know much about Scar, but the bigger a distraction he is, the happier Ling will be for it. He gets to his hands and knees and crawls forward, searching for the gaudy sword Ed had transmuted for him inside of Gluttony.

He feels the attack coming before he even hears it, and he's flattened against the ground just in time to miss the throwing daggers that had been aimed for his head. When he looks up, he realizes the little girl is glaring right at him.

Ling does _not _have time for this. His sword, he sees now, is five feet away from his outstretched hand.

"Prince Ling of the Yao clan," she shouts, five more daggers appearing in her hands. "I have long awaited the day I would be able to face you in battle!"

"Listen, little girl, I don't know who you are, but this really isn't a good time," Ling responds, rubbing his head. "Can we save your assassination attempt for later? We'll duel, or something. I'm more interested in escaping from Mr. Root-of-all-Evil over there."

The girl's eyes flicker to where Father is standing. She looks back at Ling, then, her eyes wobbling a little. "You felt it too?"

"You'd have to be dead to miss that," Ling groans, reaching out for his sword as he crawls forward for it. Arm still crossed over his midsection—_I feel like I'm holding myself together_—he uses his sword as leverage to stand up. His entire chest feels like it's on fire, and he can't even imagine how badly his ribs are broken. "Where the hell did Greed go?"

The girl points up. Ling looks. There stands Ed's body, crouched on top of a half destroyed pillar with his automail hand shielding his eyes as he watches the battle. There's a quirky grin on his face. "He said he doesn't like to fight girls and jumped up there," the girl says.

Ling turns his attention back toward the girl, and as he does, he sees Gluttony almost directly behind her, his giant hands reaching forward to grasp her and mouth hanging open in anticipation. With all the chaos going on around them between Al, Scar, and Envy, they had both missed the fat homunculus' attack.

Ling acts without thinking. "Down!" he shouts, and thank god for ninja training; the girl listens without hesitation. Ling's sword slices in an arc over her head, removing Gluttony's head from his shoulders. Blood sprays everywhere, and his giant body falls with a terrific crash. They'll only have a few moments before he regenerates, and Ling is going to take extra time to retreat, with his injuries.

The girl follows him down as he retreats behind a section of broken floor. "Why did you save me?" she asks, dark eyes wide as she looks up at him. "I, your political enemy—was it your plan to indebt me to you?" Her eyes flash. "That's it, isn't it! Well, Xiao Mei and I are in your debt, but know we will never support your bid for emperor, regardless!"

"Who _are _you?" Ling asks, feeling a headache coming on.

"I am Princess Mei of the Chang clan."

Ah. Suddenly, all of it makes sense. The Chang clan is a nothing clan, on the verge of destruction. The fact that it even has an heir surprises Ling a little. "What are you, like the nineteenth daughter or something?" he asks.

"Seventeenth!" she corrects, scowling. "And just because my clan isn't as powerful as yours doesn't mean that I won't do everything in my power to raise my clan's status!"

"Ah, so you must be here for the philosopher's stone too. In that case, you ought to talk to your boyfriend over there." He points with his sword to Gluttony, who is scratching his head and looking around him in confusion. "He's got one."

It's always strange to meet one's siblings in a foreign country. Especially ones you've never met before. Ling, unfortunately, doesn't have the luxury of time. This entire time, he's been edging toward the door. He has no idea where it leads, but anywhere that isn't here sounds like a great place to be right about now. Sword still in hand, he leans against the outer wall to keep himself upright.

Mei is glancing back at the homunculus, looking a bit horrified. Ling doesn't really blame her. Gluttony is pretty terrifying like that. And then she glances back at him, looking determined somehow. "We have to go now. We won't kill you, but only because you saved us," she says, sounding ridiculously regal. She bows to him before running off towards the homunculus.

That girl is crazy. He really hadn't meant for her to follow his hint. He had more or less wanted her to get the hell out of this psychotic country.

Whatever. One less sibling meant one less contender for the throne, even if her actual threat to his position is negligible.

The door is within reach. Another glance into the room shows that Scar has somehow managed to get past Envy's hulking figure and has placed his right hand on the evil man's forehead. Ling pauses a moment to say a prayer that is mostly, _I hope this works, I hope this works, I hope this works_, before turning back to the door.

It doesn't work—he can hear Scar's grunt of pain from where he is, and the slight pause has cost him his position. He is no longer alone.

"Going somewhere?" Greed asks, smiling that horrible smile that doesn't go with his face.

"Well, that was the plan," Ling groans.

"Yeah...not going to happen. Father doesn't want anyone leaving. He even said I could kill you." Greed looks very excited at the thought.

Ling has exactly one chance to get out of this alive, and that is to somehow distract Greed. He decides to play a gamble—gambling that somewhere inside of the homunculus, Ed is still alive and well somewhere. "I suppose it's not every day someone as short as you are gets to kill someone, huh?"

Greed's eyes flash, and for a moment they're almost orange in color. "Who is a shrimp so fucking tiny that he can be compared to a tiny speck of sand that won't even show up in your eye!" Greed—no, for a second, Ling is sure that is Ed—responds hotly.

And then the red eyes are back in full force, and Greed looks baffled.

Ling makes his move. Praying he isn't making a huge mistake, he swings his sword at Greed's neck, not hard enough to bisect, only to injure. Even so, he winces as it impacts—

And bounces off, jarring his arm badly and throwing him off guard.

Greed's neck is covered in something black and apparently very hard. Ling is fortunate, he realizes, he hadn't been swinging harder, or he would have broken his sword.

"Pretty neat, huh?" Greed asks, grinning widely. "I like to call it the Ultimate Shield. It's pretty damn hard to beat me up, I'm afraid." He holds up his hands, and his left one too is quickly covered with the inky black. His fingers sharpen into claws. "I can use this over my entire body, you know. It's really quite convenient."

Ling's eyes are riveted on one thing, though, one very important little detail that Greed seems to have missed. _Not your _entire_ body._

He doesn't know a lot about automail, and he has never paid much attention to it either. But unless he is mistaken, the joints should prove to be a weak point. There is no way to cover them completely with the metal casing and still allow them flexibility. It'll be a challenge, but if he can calculate correctly, he might be able to get past.

"So Ed is still in there, is he?" Ling asks, ducking under a clawed swipe.

"Sure, somewhere. Strange little brat he is," Greed comments conversationally, as though he isn't in hand to hand combat with Ling at all. He casually catches the blade of Ling's sword with his left hand. "I wasn't really expecting him to just let me in without argument. Pretty weird. Would you let somebody like me into your body without question?"

"I guess it depends on the situation," Ling responds, stumbling back in an attempt to dodge one of Greed's attacks. "You were supposed to be in my body, you know."

"Huh. Really? It _would _be nice, not being half metal." Greed grins at him, scoring a blow across Ling's shoulder. He nearly drops his sword at the impact. He isn't going to be able to keep this up for a whole lot longer, but Greed isn't giving him any damn openings. Blood runs freely down his arm.

Another slash, and Ling goes down on his knees to avoid it. This time, however, there is a sharp pain going through his torso, and it grounds him. He can't stand up. Greed picks up on his weakness and descends on him. His grin is maniacal, his claw descending down on the prince menacingly. Ling's arms feel like lead, and even as he tries to lift his sword to blow the incoming blow, he finds, somehow, he can't. He simply can't do it.

"Ed! Stop!" Ling shouts, desperately. There is nothing else to do, nothing more to shout; what can he do but appeal to Ed now? He doesn't expect it will work. If Ed hasn't come out for more than a split second by now, there is going to be little chance that he can stop Greed.

Ling lets his sword drop and stares up at Greed. He can do nothing but accept this.

The claw is moving toward him, impossibly fast and lethal. He watches it arc outwards toward him, watches it split the air. And he watches as it inexplicably stops two inches from his face.

Greed is staring at him, teeth gritted together and eyebrows knit in frustration. Sweat is beading on his forehead and his clawed left hand is trembling where he is pulling it away from Ling. He backs up a few paces. Is Ed fighting? Is Ed _winning_?

Ling doesn't have the desire to stick around and find out. A fresh wave of adrenaline powering him, he staggers to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, and drags himself right past Greed and out the door.

It quickly becomes apparent, however, that leaving through this door is going to do him no more good than being in the chamber with the homunculi. There is a long dark hallway there, extending both ways seemingly infinitely, and clustered in either direction, he can feel a herd of chimeras. He can see no way to escape this beyond a miracle. He isn't going to be able to fight his way out, and he even if he could, there is no way he'd be able to get out of this maze. Even if there weren't any chimeras about, it would be an impossible cause. He has no idea where the hell he is.

Maybe Al will come out soon. Maybe he'll let Ling ride inside of his armor and he can get out that way. Maybe.

But it isn't Al who follows him out. It's Greed.

There's something very wrong with him, though. His hands are clenched into fists, his jaw set in apparent frustration. He is glaring and sweating and trembling, and he's approaching Ling. His eyes are smoldering with an unspoken rage.

Ling stoically watches him approach. What else is there to do? He can't fight. He can't run. There are few other options. He leans against the wall where he is kneeling on the ground, his sword loosely in his right hand.

Greed walks right up to him, planting a foot on either side of Ling. His left foot, the metal one, is still bare. It seems like years ago when they ate that boot. And then Greed leans down, leering over him, and swoops his claw around in a lightning quick motion. He grabs Ling by the neck and drags him up the wall, until Ling's feet are dangling a few inches off the ground. Ling's sword clatters uselessly to the ground, and he reaches up with both hands, trying to ease the pressure on his neck. Greed is holding him up, arm extended as straight as it will go on an upward angle away from his body. Homunculus or not, Ed's body is still a good half foot shorter than Ling's.

"Where is he?" Greed demands, his voice acidic and his eyes narrowed in hatred. "Where is the man with the sword and the eye patch!"

Ling stares at him, unsure of what he is hearing. Here is Greed with an open chance to kill Ling once and for all, pinning him to the wall and asking about the whereabouts of King Bradley? Gasping against Greed's death grip on his neck and trying to loosen those iron fingers, Ling wonders how the hell he is supposed to answer this. "I—I don't know."

Greed doesn't like this answer. The claw tightens on Ling's windpipe, and Ling can only make a choking noise. All right, where is Bradley? He isn't here, so that probably means he's on the surface somewhere. He points upwards, toward the ceiling.

This seems to be closer to the correct answer. Greed loosens his grip, and Ling takes a deep, gasping breath that sets his entire chest on fire.

"Up...he's...he's probably on the surface...headquarters...he's the man who rules this country," Ling answers dizzily, fingers still prying at the homunculus' iron grip. "Ask Ed...he works for...the military."

There is silence for a long moment. Red eyes meet Ling's much darker ones for a long moment. And then suddenly, the pressure on Ling's neck is gone, and he's falling into a broken heap on the ground again. His first thought is to find his sword. His second is to track the homunculus.

Greed appears to be having some sort of mental breakdown in front of him. His hands on over his face, his fingers clawing at his skin. The shield has vanished, and Greed staggers back a few steps before jerking his hands away and howling, "Shut the hell up!"

Ling watches Greed carefully, unsure of what to think. Ed seems to be fighting with Greed again, but why is Ling being interrogated on Bradley's whereabouts?

Unexpectedly, Greed's fist hardens again into his armor, and his hand slams into the wall so hard that a number of cracks spider web out from where it impacts. "I'll _kill _him. I'll kill him, and you can't fucking stop me!"

For a moment, Ling thinks that Greed is talking about him, and that his demise is imminent. But then, Greed dashes past him, uneven footsteps echoing into the hallway. Ling stares after him for a long moment, unsure of what had just happened.

And then he realizes that the chimeras he had sensed in the direction Greed had taken off in are getting much closer than they had been. Fuck, he cannot catch a break today, can he? He hefts his sword weakly, wondering what the hell he is going to do to get out of this one.

His salvation comes in the most improbable of places. It isn't Al who comes out that door next, or even Mei and her tiny panda bodyguard. It's the lunatic Ishbalan.

Scar notices him there, but he says nothing, walking quickly down the corridor where Ling is hiding out. "There are...a bunch of monsters down there," Ling calls warningly, not really knowing why he's bothering, but what the hell.

"I am not...planning to escape to the surface just yet," Scar says, regarding Ling cautiously. "You can sense them?"

Ling nods, thinking furiously to himself. Even if Scar isn't intending to leave for some weird reason, it might be advantageous for Ling to hitch a ride somehow. If he can even just get out of this damn place, someone is bound to find him, lying on the ground and bleeding to death in the street somewhere, right? He meets some very interesting people by being passed out in an alley somewhere.

But what could he possibly have that would get the Ishbalan's attention? What could he possibly offer this man in return? He has nothing on him, no money, no weapons but his gaudy sword. He is too injured to pay Scar back with a favor.

_Think, Ling, think!_

What does he have that Scar wants? Nothing tangible, nothing physical. Even his ability to sense the monsters won't be enough. But he does have information, doesn't he? He has that story that Envy told him, about the child who had been shot, and about the start of the war.

"You want to know about that war, right?" Ling calls to the man, playing yet another gamble and hoping this one will pay off. "That massive genocide they call a war?"

Scar stops in place, looking at him with his cold eyes. There is a trail of blood from his forehead, trickling past his nose and down his chin, and Ling suddenly realizes what about this man is so intimidating. "What do you know?" he asks, his voice low and rumbling and dangerous.

"Plenty. I know who started the war, and I've got a pretty good idea of why." Ling glares back, refusing to be intimidated by that menacing face. "I overheard those guys in there," and he nods back toward the chamber, "discussing it a little while ago."

Red eyes narrowed, Scar leans closer, peering at the prince. "Tell me."

"Get me out of here, and I'll tell you everything I know."

_

* * *

_

_ii._

Greed is running, in more than one sense of the word.

The guardians ignore him; he is branded as one of the keepers of this place, and they will not attack. They watch him go past, beady eyes uncomprehending and curious. He knows, somehow, perhaps from the information that Father had imparted within him—the same information which allowed him to know himself, and to recognize the man who had given him life—where the exit to this maze of sewers is, knows how to get to the surface.

He isn't completely certain of what will await him there, but he has a pretty good idea. Father built his little lair in the most convenient location in Central City, of course. Right below Central Headquarters. Whether or not Bradley is there at the current time is anyone's guess.

_Stupid little fuck,_ Greed thinks savagely in the general direction of the angry little jackass that now incorporates his mind. He isn't angry at the brat, though, not really. Well, he _is_, but it isn't the same sort of angry, really.

It had started out in a last ditch effort to save the Xingese boy. The brat seemed rather fond of him for some reason.

_You're playing for the wrong team, Greed,_ the brat had said. _They're not going to let you have everything. They're going to take everything away from you. Like they did before._

Greed hadn't cared much at first. Who cared what Father and all had done to the last Greed? It didn't have anything to do with him. But the further he had gone into that thought process, the more he realized something—if they had done it to the last Greed, what was stopping them from doing it to their brand new Greed as well?

_Don't you remember the Devil's Nest? Don't you remember how your Father's military attacked the bar and took away everything you had worked so hard to gather?_

Something had slipped into his mind then, an image of something his mind instinctively called 'home,' of men in blue uniforms rushing through the door. Of the pangs of anger and loss as his family had fallen around him. His control over this body had wavered slightly, and that had been the only thing that had saved the Xingese boy from getting skewered.

It shouldn't have bothered him. He isn't that Greed. He is a different Greed. These memories aren't even his. But at the same time, if they aren't his, why does he have them? Where had they come from? And what exactly had happened to that Greed?

He had rushed out the heavy iron doors and into the sewer-like corridor, and when he had, another image was superimposed on top of that of the passage he was standing in. He had stood in a place very much like this, he had thought suddenly, idiotically (_I'm not even an hour old in this body!_), not very long ago.

In his mind's eye, he had seen a man with a sword and an eye patch, standing in the middle of the shallow water, running red with the blood of Greed's companions.

The Xingese boy had been there, and it had seemed logical enough to ask him at the time. He had gotten his answer, and now he is running. He isn't sure what he plans to do. This body is still odd to him, with one metal arm and one metal leg that he cannot protect. But as long as he has the Shield, his Ultimate Shield, nothing will hurt him.

The faster he runs, the clearer the memories become. He remembers names, and he remembers faces. Loa, giant and soft-spoken, with a sharp intellect and a strong hand. Dorchet, quick on his feet and quick to anger, but unwaveringly loyal. Bido, faithful and gentle and a bit of a coward, but incredibly fast on his feet. Martel, hard and impulsive and, of course, very lovely. Each of their names is like a knife wound, stabbing in Greed's gut, and each one just makes him angrier.

Bradley. The man responsible for all of this.

He already has the armor up over his hand, sharpening his nails into claws when he gets to the doors to the stairwell leading up. He rips the door off its hinges and runs.

No matter how quickly he goes, no matter how hard he pushes this new body of his, the memories keep pressing in on him. Swords in his shoulders, in his gut, his hands chained to the giant slab of cement behind him. Suspended in midair. It was there, in that chamber, the same chamber where Father had just given him a new life.

"STOP HAUNTING ME!" Greed shouts suddenly, his voice echoing back and forth through the narrow stairwell. The memories pay him no heed, and they continue chasing him up the stairs.

The brat has shut up now, at least, whatever small comfort that is. All of this madness is his fault in the first place. Greed's memories are eating him alive. He is drowning in them, drowning in one of the only things he's ever _not wanted._

_I don't want to be that Greed_, he thinks, but he knows it's too late, the way he is dashing up the stairs as though his life depends on it. He already is that Greed.

Unsurprisingly, the door at the top of the stairwell leads almost directly to the Fuhrer's office. There are a few people milling about the hallway that he steps out into, but he ignores them. He dashes down the hall, to the door marked 'Fuhrer President King Bradley,' and he slams it open.

There is a middle aged woman with soft brown hair pulled back into a bun seated at a desk in front of another door. She looks up in surprise when he all but rips the door from the hinges and Greed staggers in. She puts down the phone she had been speaking on. "The President is in a meeting right now, sir," she says calmly, as though a blood-covered lunatic hadn't just stampeded into her office. "Do you have an appointment?"

Greed ignores her, stalking toward the other door. The secretary stands up as he yanks the door off of the hinges. "Sir, you can't just—"

"Beat it, lady. I don't like to hurt women, but I will if I have to." Greed's voice is low. He drops the door on the lady's desk. She stares at him but wisely backs off. Maybe it's the look in his eye. Maybe it's the fact that his left hand is currently made out of carbon. Maybe it's because he just ripped apart a door without any extended effort. But hell, she's letting him in.

The door opens to another anteroom. There are armed guards in this one. Greed brings his armor up more fully, over his chest and neck, and ignores the bullets ricocheting off of it. He slams one of the guards into the wall, and he rips the throat out of the other. And then he kicks in the Fuhrer's door.

Bradley is already on his feet when Greed flies through the doorway. Ignoring the room's only other occupant, Greed lunges toward Bradley, shrieking in hatred. This is the man who has shattered everything! This is the man who had come in and ruthlessly taken everything that Greed had spent so long collecting and perfecting! Who is this man to come in and destroy his life?

Greed doesn't forget that Bradley's strength is in his speed. Greed's agility has increased too with this smaller, lighter body, but he isn't completely used to it yet. He lands on top of the table, sending a number of teacups flying. His clawed lunge is blocked by a single blade, and the carbon hisses against the steel. Greed squeezes his hand shut, determined to knock the sword away for a moment, but Bradley is too fast, even in this. The sword is already gone.

Knowing that staying in once place is going to be a liability he cannot afford, Greed leaps backwards, barely missing the cut of the sword. The next blow is also Bradley's, and it scores against the edge of Greed's neck. The armor deflects it easily.

The only way Greed is going to win this, he realizes quickly, is if he can catch Bradley off guard. He ducks down under another swipe and lunges forward. The brat's body is in peak physical condition, but despite that, the metal limbs are too heavy for his frame. Bradley catches him easily, and the sword is cutting downwards. Greed throws forward his right arm, forgetting for a moment that it is only made out of metal. Bradley's sword cuts through the metal plating like it's nothing more substantial than butter. There's a spray of hydraulic fluid, and then the arm stops moving altogether.

Greed blocks two more blows with his left arm, suddenly realizing that he is far outmatched. He needs an exit. He makes a feint to the left before grabbing one of the chairs and throwing it across the small room and smashing it into the window. Part of the lower corner shatters, creating a small hole. Greed ducks underneath the table, and Bradley goes over it as they race for the new exit.

Greed wins. Bradley is still on top of the table when he leaps through, the sharp edges of the glass scraping uselessly across carbon.

He lands on the street below in a crunch of glass, stumbling forward to his knees. The Fuhrer's office is on the third story, but it's hardly mentionable to a homunculus to fall that far. He is on his feet in an instant, running for it. People are staring at him, pointing, and he doesn't even care. His arm flops uselessly at his side. What shoddy mechanics, able to be cut through with a sword like that.

He doesn't know where he's running to, just that he has to get the hell out of here. He isn't strong enough to take on Bradley yet, and he's just made it abundantly clear that he's no longer under the ugly influence of Father. He is an outcast now. There's no way around it—Father, most assuredly, will be wanting him back, just like last time.

And just like last time, he'll be 'punished' for his crimes. The memory of that agony makes him sick. For a moment, his concentration flickers, and the brat presses his way to the forefront of their shared body. Greed lets him, just for a second. The kid has barely enough time to bring them to a nearby alleyway before Greed shoves him out of the way. He isn't feeling very charitable at the moment.

"Sorry, kid," he murmurs out loud, crouching awkwardly in the shadows. "Now's not a good time." It's never a good time, really.

_Oh, yeah? When is a good time?_ the brat wants to know. Greed ignores him. It isn't difficult. When you are a being with a philosopher's stone at the core of your person, you get used to random people trying to chat you up. This is the brat's body, so it's natural he's louder at first, but he'll fade into one of the background voices soon enough.

What does he need to do? He needs to get this arm running, first of all. He needs to find a hide out. They'll expect him to skip town, most likely, so maybe he'll stay here, right under their noses. He needs money, he needs allies, he needs a hideout.

He has none of that, not even close. At least when he had finally broken out last time, he had already had something set up, a hideout put together, and some cash set aside. What does he have now? He has an arm made out of metal that's doing nothing but weighing him down.

He is tempted just to pull the damn thing off and leave it somewhere. He tugs at it, not having any idea of how it comes off.

"How do you get this damn thing off?" he asks no one really in particular. It clears his head to chat with himself, talking aloud. He doesn't like being by himself much, and it gives the vague illusion of the presence of others.

The brat, of course, thinks Greed is talking to him. _Don't take it off. Find Winry, she can fix it_, he says, his mental voice like a whisper in Greed's ear. _Her train doesn't leave until later this afternoon. We can find her in the hotel._

It's as good a plan as any. Greed would much prefer to have two working arms, even if one of them is made out of metal and forms a unique weak point in his otherwise impenetrable armor. The brat gives him directions to the hotel. He keeps to the shadows when he can help it; the brat was covered in dirt and blood when Greed received the body. He stands out a bit, even in a big city like this one. He is gathering unwanted attention.

He stops at a local convenience store and sneaks into the public restroom, where he cleans himself up as much as he can with one hand. The black clothing masks the blood pretty well, and he's got most of the dirt and blood off his face and out of his hair at this point. He looks a bit more presentable now, and the hotel is coming up. He crosses the street, hands in his pockets, heads down two blocks, and then he turns left. According to the brat, the hotel is just up—

Up there. Thirty feet away, and bustling with activity. Among the many people walking by the front, Greed can see a couple of distinct military uniforms heading through the front doors. They're obviously trying to be discreet, so who the hell knows how many more of them around there are.

Right.

Greed spins on his heel and walks the other direction. The military is not his friend right now. Why they're surrounding the hotel, he isn't sure. Are they waiting for him to go there? Are they following the automail mechanic who is supposed to be staying there? Are they there for completely unrelated reasons? Greed doesn't know. He doesn't care. He is not going there.

But if the mechanic is supposed to be getting on a train...well, there is one more place he might be able to find her.

All he has to do is find the train station.


End file.
